“And at all other times: Dusk”
The music stops and there’s a moment of quiet
before the sounds of the park flood in.
Above a plane
flying low slices the heavy smudgy clouds
tearing a pale strip through the grey darkening sky.
The crows, gulls and even the pigeons have left
spurning the scattered bread and discarded chicken boxes.
Off behind Ali Baba and his 40 ice pops
are taking one last hopefully turn round the estate
The evening chill and empty playground robbing him of custom.
Only the wind is left now running through the swings
and stirring the litter
indulgently ruffling the tops of the trees.
Across the darkening grass a broken figure shuffles up
laden with taut straining blue bags
heavy with clinking bottles.
He moves so slowly
as if he’ll stop at any time
it’s hard not to stare
as he threatens to stop and even fall
at every step
painfully he heads on and is lost in the gloom.
And as the first lights come on there’s a jangle of rattling keys and chains
and a green man from council is at the gate.
I collect my things and walk over
“Come on mate some of us have got homes to go to”
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