under darkening skies

Under darkening skies
we walked once, long ago,
the cars were fresher then
and enjoyed more space in every side street
whose ends held promise
of a real town or country waiting.

(yes, harper, this is the real bean
beneath the wrapper
the both-eyes-crying
for the world beyond the clock.)

Nowadays, all's false dark
of getting older and knowing
that no matter how shallow
one's plumb sounds
and no matter how one tries to listen, mark
and inwardly flatulate
the secret is out, the sentiment holds gout
and a day comes to say the show stagnates,
the rust upon these cars is now our property
they will not take to the streets to anywhere,
soon we won't step outside
these frail houses anymore.

written early 1981

© John Close