Wednesday, 4 November 2009

First jog of Autumn

The new trainers are hard,
Slapping against granite.
I look up to the tall towers
And the stars above them
The glow of lighting,
Flickering televisions,
Turning night
Into individual days.

The Number Ten
Is waiting at route’s end
No more passengers this night.
It bobs by and darkness
Is left to my right.
Now it is my turn
Through apartment towers
Left again
And along the cod night sea.

The wind fillets my cheeks
Blows my hood back
Cinder crunches under foot.
Above is a hunter’s moon
A bombers’ moon
But the night planes are
Now indifferent
To these docklands
No Viking raiders of

I leave the dark waters
I leave the idle dreams
Turn for welcoming home
Breathing has been good
The ankle held up
On this,
My first jog of autumn.

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