Streetlight Conferences
This night, too normal for diary mention,
ends as the sun forces it's way past horizon,
dusty daylight creeping over his car,
the yellow stationwagon as old as we are.
Corner eye watching sleeping parent windows,
we are Cagney and Lacey, Starsky and Hutch
on a midnight til daybreak rotation,
our breath decorating the air with frost.
We criss-cross Plato, Mingus, McDonalds
as if CIA operatives drink coffee
in time to our coded radio plays -
the unmarked van obvious a block back.
With no hint of question, we talk of promise:
our somedays, maybes and definatelys:
the mysteries of the universe solved
for at least one night.
Heather
www.heathertaylor.co.uk
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