Midnight Cigarette

Always engines busy.

Motorbike gears shifting fast.

TV window lights flicker.

Turn of keys in doors. Testing locks in nighttime rituals.

Garden gates creak.

Swooping planes gliding in to land (at least two awake-

One would hope).

Wind waltzing through leaves

Gathering dew soundless.

Folk abed. In a hive.

My lone fag, a

Burning tip: a diminishing tower of Babel.

Hissing murmur as I draw.

Heat in the silence.

As somthing skitters within the leaves.


© Tom Tide 2016





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