Rode it long through the acid night

Chirping the pulse

Of a malfunctioning smoke alarm

Brought to abrupt dream end of toasted bread

Aches and morphic response to the crash of wakeful thinking

Clearing it up with it 

Getting on

To the fast lane attack of rhythmic work impulses

“beware of the dog, it needs cuddles”, barks the kitsch sign

Ironic to find humour here

In golf land 

The soft thwack notes the rising sun

The dog barks from a one-mile radius

The motor is diesel it sounds rougher than a regular petrol engine

As I take the rolling hills at speed time stops

To breath in ‘personal’ and blend out with ‘distinctly your own’ is todays goal

The apparition of an old couple eating food at the table next to us

Is spectral

In its intensity

Pre-frozen they thaw out over the first course

The look alright like life was spent doing the right thing and sleep comes easy

But

What if that happens to us

Ruefully eating out a metre of pasta on a Wednesday night in an empty pub

With each mouthful the middle distance gets further away and the gears change and the diesel motor responds with a rush of blood to the nervous system and the last fifty years explode behind the eyes in one second of remembrance that is just a few colours blended

And there is a spectre at the window behind the glass

That was something like you

You remembered in time for pudding