If on a winter’s night a sonnet

Edward Hopper, Woman in Cafe

 

 

  

A man walks up a railway ramp 

in the fine rain of a winter’s night, 

watches the tips of his shoes damp 

& alternating over wet concrete trite 

with air slightly sour with metal, 

the sweet sad smell of the rail 

on a night ferry or imperial cordite, 

as he moves past pale spools of light 

cast from long concrete poles tight 

& bent at the top like monks’ hoods 

in quiet contemplation; is he going 

home to fire up rotten old wood, 

slit his wrists, write a sonnet glowing 

on the wall in fresh bright blood? 

[The poem was kicked off sitting in the train at Campbelltown station, looking out, seeing a ramp in the rain at night. Again WordPress will simply not recognise stanza breaks. This is supposed to be in three quatrains and a final couplet. Damn.]

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~ by Peter Lach-Newinsky on August 2, 2010.

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