Like an unnecessary metaphor
not adding anything to our encounter,
the evening came each time,
uninvited and too early
in a long, black dress so tight,
with too much lace and glitter.

Her lipstick was the shade of dusk
already fading, her eyes were cold and bitter.
She came first, her lazy spouse the night
approached us slowly with the hour.
We couldn’t stay together, in the presence
of this unkind pair. He was the worst.

We had so much to tell each other,
but she was here now and she hated us.
She yawned and grinned a lot.
We shivered in the shadow of her cold
while we ignored her.
It never helped, she would not go.

Reluctantly we parted then at last.
The day had gone too soon,
as we were well aware. And eight dark hours
she and night would be dancing on our floor.
But when daylight came,
night run away and we could meet once more.


Comments on: "Curfewed Summer of ’74" (6)

  1. This is excellent, Ina! Love the imagery … from the beginning turning it in on itself:
    ‘Like an unnecessary metaphor
    not adding anything to our encounter …’
    XO ♥

    • Hi Diane, thank you very much!
      This poem evolved from a poem I put on FB a while ago 🙂
      ♥ xx

  2. E. English said:

    Ugly old witch! ha
    Great picture you painted!

  3. You are into a vein that is powerful right now, Ina. There are mysteries in this poem: The dancer with the night, the ugly old witch, bewitches the poem and the lovers in the poem and sends shivers up and down my spine.

    • Hi Thomas, thank you very much, lol that poor old evening, she probably is an elegant lady, but when you have a curfew, she is a witch!

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