In the half light of the car park
behind Burger-King, underneath the fire-escape
which led to Shotokan,
at the side of sleazy arches where no woman should
ever venture, we were flickering in the dark
like sea-green ghosts,
flickering, nearly out,
like guttering candles.
There were others like us:
collecting children, crossing roads,
paying bills in sub post-offices
that were about to close
forever and perhaps we should have been
looking down at this from somewhere higher,
more celestial, from a cliff-top,
lighthouse-turret, or a cloud.
Yes, we were waiting for a half-life to begin
when it was over
in a back-street
called denial, in the suburb of not-yet.