another sticky evening

its half past two
my day is ending,
and by now the unrelenting heat
seems to be getting to the stars

as they sit dim above,
surveying all of every thing,
one of those evenings
when you can hear everything,

distant dogs howl skyward,
and a lone freight train passes through
a ghost station
perhaps to london
perhaps then onward to a dock!
and then well
perhaps anywhere

an owl sat in the now
long gone willow tree
secret wise old owl

nothing to eat on the pavement,
or my garden or
anyone else's for that matter
so sing your song all night
sleep it off in the morning,


everything fading now
the harsh reality of overtime tomorrow,
seems distant like weeks upon weeks
although its twelve hours,

as i give out that eternal yawn,
the last gasp of resistance down
and now its time to sleep
another sticky evening spent