Box of light.

Night rattles the tiles, the street glass roils, reflects

traffics of cars, faces. Moon, too, yes. But, no star

arcs in raindrops; shoeshine puddles even the paving.

 

Trainbent, late, and suddenly lost. Of the first to cross

the mouth of the concourse, I ask direction, but

with apology he passes without pause.

 

A near full minute, then a second appeared.

West Hall, as he understood, newspaper roofing him,

was still some fair distance. He patted his head, hoping,

 

I suppose, to summon location but, unable to

conjure or relay required information, suggested

it would be easier to drive me there than explain.

 

(I hadn’t accepted a ride from a stranger for some 40 years),

so the offer caught me by surprise, as did the wide streets

of Middlesbrough and shortly, the welcome box of light above

a threshold of smokers, West Hall Worki_g Mens’ Club.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I hope that this finds you well.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

2 thoughts on “Box of light.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s