It’s moments like this <br /> when the barman goes through the back <br />and leaves me alone <br /> <br />a radio whispering <br /> somewhere amongst the glasses <br /> - I’m through with love - <br /> <br />the way the traffic slows <br /> to nothing <br />how all of a sudden <br /> at three in the afternoon <br /> <br />the evening’s already begun <br /> a nascent <br />dimming. <br /> <br /> By ten I’ll be walking away <br />on Union Street <br /> or crossing Commercial Road <br />in a gust of rain <br /> <br />and everyone who passes <br /> will be you <br />or almost you <br /> before it’s someone else.<br /><br />John Burnside<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/blues-11/
