A night of young children
Of puke in the wastebasket
Cigarettes lining up half smoked
And memories of dead men
Missed for the memories they gave
As though bread before ducks.

Amongst the summer trousers
We wait for something
Certain of its arrival
As we were once of goodness
Parents, and sleep, and eternal living
But now there is only time.

Allotted without our consent
Coughing into a smile
Scrubbing at the skin
Collecting little, just waiting
For the next last glass to empty
So easy do we fall away.