The hackney carriage has pulled up at the door, what more could one ask for. <br />Off on a unknown trip, one last zip to do up on the case. <br /> <br />He’ll leave no trace of having been here, not at all. <br />He hadn’t had a ball, now it was time to move on, soon he would be gone. <br />Made no real friends, this is where it ends. <br /> <br />Bags stowed away in the taxi, lifts in the Dachsy and then they’ll be off. <br /> <br />One last look at what was home, and across the road at the Hippodrome. <br />He never went in there, perhaps he was too square. <br /> <br />Meters, logging up the cost. <br /> <br />Feeling kind of lost. <br /> <br />Station please. <br /> <br />Loneliness feels like a disease, at least he’s got the dog, <br />but with him there is no dialogue, just a one way conversation, <br />with no elation. <br /> <br />Ah, well. What will be will be, perhaps he’ll join the military. <br /> <br />He’s leaving now, he has to go. <br /> <br />Cheerio! <br /> <br /> <br />© Ernestine Northover<br /><br />Ernestine Northover<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/cheerio/
