Observation Touch

Is it not impossible to
Stalk this town in
Blind-man shades?
Surely, one would tend to think -
The winding, cobbled street, by
Texture and by horse-smell,
Butcher’s corner, stale blood
Trail, a whiff of evening ale

The silver-bearded violinist,
Hat displayed - he’s twenty quid a
Richer man,
Plus my soul in change -

Paid, and with a pause in
Sorrowful refrain
He decrees, “You are the night”

And I’ve become the night!

Dog piss, street lamp accolade
Stick-in-hand, I
Navigate the gutter trash,
The moistened promenade
By touch
By touch alone

by Kelly Vinal

Comments (3)

great poem...i felt like putting a lock on my door, then looking out my window. good job.
Highly evocative of some small towns in the north, lovely work
Excellent! I felt myself walking the walk. H