Dusk

Michaela loves that time when evening turns to dusk
When streetlights shine with purpose
But people have not yet drawn their curtains

There laid naked by approaching night
The secrets of some other sitting room
Are shelved
Are stored in boxes from Ikea
In two dimensions
Animated by the ubiquitous TV sets
Flickering from the corners.

Arm in arm we share clandestine glances
Whispering our words of approval or approbation
And walk on into our own lives.

There was a time when we watched in aspiration
Building middle class castles in our minds
Safe within suburbia
Dreaming of a day when we too would know the security
Of ownership.
A solid sideboard
And stripped pine floors.

Like the moths flapping at the amber streetlights
We are drawn to the artificial arc
Of convention
And conformity
Tied down to the temporal
Walking to stand still.

Michaela and I
We sometimes transcend the tramlines
Or at least we try
We catch a glimpse of another way
The scent of freedom on the breeze
Blown there from another Kingdom
And we start to fly.

I do not believe that Icarus
Melted his wax wings
I think he mortgaged them.

20.2.06