Zydeco soft, an ordinary street,
anywhere that palm trees grow
and love melts down to a mangled note.
You dare to breathe one more breath.
Your shame-faced mysteries too near to speak.
Whip snap sighs mix with tobacco smoke
on this balmy night, this moon swept eve.
‘Whatever’ as the kids all say;
a kind of band-aid, cure all quip
as if something’s nasty in the skip
of a hopscotch girl and her nursery rhymes.
The telescope is turned around,
time seems to freeze and stutter out.
The car rolls on and you don’t look back.
Cross your heart with the safety strap.
Ross Hill is a retired teacher/librarian/researcher, who has been writing and publishing poetry for 40 years. He posts on The Alsop Review, Facebook, and has an ebook on Amazon. Recently, he has been combining graphics, music and poetry for YouTube slideshows. He lives in Sydney, Australia.