This Late Hour
even at this late hour
coming home from nowhere important
after most of the houses
have already gone to sleep
I, still, want to drive through town
instead of just going straight home
slowly down main street
where nothing much remains
past the post office on the corner
and
the fire station
and
the vacant building
where the grocery store used to be
and
I see a gray cat
lurking on the sidewalk
disappearing into the shadows
when I drive past
and
there’s, still, a light on at the bar
a blue neon beer sign
glowing in the window
and
I see a few people out there
lingering in the parking lot
a couple of them
turning to look at me
and
someone pointing
laughing at something
when I drive past
James Babbs has been writing for most of his life but he still manages to learn new things. He has written hundreds of poems and a few short stories and has even had a few of them published. More recently James has been indulging in writing haiku with a certain amount of success. He still thinks about writing a novel someday but that just seems like an awful lot of words.
