The Vision


The heave and swell of party folk
On rhythmic wheels of muffled bass
Had turned the once sonorous street
Into a taxidermist’s case
Of stifled laughter, clinking glass.
A bar of tungsten grew and split
The darkness of the garden path,
And in the door frame, brightly lit,
There stood a vision; not the sort
On such a night you might expect.
This one was dressed in sweater, scarf
And jeans, and wearing homely specs.
But still I fell in love.
I fall in love a lot these days.
It doesn’t hang around for long.
It lasts until each vision fades.
In this case at the garden gate,
She hailed a cab and never knew
That as she drove off down the street
She’d ripped my stupid heart in two.


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