From One Lamp-Post to Another

Haworth Hodgkinson

Along Buchanan Gardens
evenly spaced sentinels
hang their glowing heads,
observing all within eyelight
and noting every passer-by.

The girl stands against a lamp-post
as if to save her companion
from indiscreet collision.

The eye unmovingly stares.
Last night, she was with someone else
and he was alone.

Two dogs sing passionately to one another across the town.

He makes for the next lamp-post,
but stops and turns half way.
She catches up
and they collide.

The eye rocks gently,
chattering in the wind.

In the courtyard
she makes her farewell
and he watches her window,
waiting to see the light go out again.

A spluttering car crawls past and disappears towards the horizon.

An hour later
he is caught by the night warden
in the rose bed.

There is screeching and hooting from the woods by the mill pond.

Next morning at breakfast
she offers him
the casual truth:
I fell asleep with the light on.

In a quiet corner
a street lamp stands
unlit.

Written 1982
Revised 1989–2006
Edited 2007

Published in A Weakness for Mermaids, 2007
(Koo Press)