At Nightfall
At nightfall
the old people I know
lock the doors of themselves up tight.
They remove all sharp objects
like windmills and gnomes
from their gardens,
just in case.
They check their slippers for scorpions.
Look under bath mats for snakes.
They plug up their hearing aids
against the threat of darkness, they
answer the door only to loneliness.
They fill small wicker baskets
with fear fullness
and the unopened presents from themselves
as the children they once were.
The children who in dreams ask – over and over
“Is it safe, yet ?” and
“Can we come out to play again, now ?”
Page(s) 25
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- Lamport Court
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- North, The
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- Staple
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- Ugly Tree, The
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