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Stuck on time's middle verge. The hours
move like fast traffic in
two lanes – one queue of tail lights
heading past my stand to fair
or fearsome kingdoms, wide in
promise – there's stern, chill eyes
that scrutinise each comer: at
the frowning border many are
turned back. The other lane is
coming home beyond our
thin todays; no soaring cities
but familiar ugliness of
old towns, shabby, untidy –
but never unexpected,
the comfort of carpet slippers
before the dog appropriates them
once and for all.
- COMMENTS
tazz317over 11 years agoyou return to the comfort of home, TK U MLJ LV NV
