High Street
Shops,
like old teeth,
yellowing now,
fading smiles,
like dawn
on a winter day,
boarded up,
shutters down,
people giving’ up
just walking around,
no conversations,
nobody got the time,
leaning,
against broken doors,
no reason,
just time,
A few stores
are open,
long shadows
stretching outside,
dust and memories,
what’s left
of good times,
high is the low,
and low
is the outgoing
tide.
A dog scratches,
on the sidewalk,
the bakery’s
still open,
on the corner,
by the bus stop,
someone calls
from a window,
‘Hey love,
got time to talk?’
Turning around,
‘Do you mean me?
She shouts back,
‘yeah, you, yes,
I’ve slipped the mat
over the key,
c’mon up,’
she’s all blouse
and fluttering,
died hair,
bleached
in the sunlight,
wanting something,
perhaps nothing
from someone,
somewhere,
I’m tempted
to take a look,
but the dog,
he just lifts himself,
reminds me
I’m just turning
around,
like me,
he’s biting his tail,
chasing the litter
at my feet,
I walk on,
past the church,
the warehouse,
the terraces
in red brick,
finding my way,
walking along
these unforgiving
times,
the high street,
left abandoned,
for another day.
Feel free to contact me. Be nice to know who my audience is and perhaps you can suggest some further topics or themes for my writing! And do give me feedback!
p1964km@googlemail.com
