The shady part
Here we are in the shady part of town,
where the old city has ended with its
stone walls and tourists and instead
there are tall trees with green leaves
and yes, they give us shade and cool
our dogs, too, as they lie resting and
barking at those who step around us,
frowning. We are happy to be shady.
Come pay us a visit with your mother,
who said we were sketchy. Watch us
be drawn and painted in, see my love
with her soft neck and perfect limbs
being traced by the great hand of the
twilight, by the keen artist’s eye of a
rising moon. Tell your mother that if
she opens her mind she too can be art.
So, it is dodgy here. Come at the peak
of night, when the earth and street are
alive and we dodge each other as bats,
fluttering, dancing in circles, delicate
and brave. Here we are in the iffy part
of town, where every moment is an if,
and a then, and a future falling before
us. Please. I want you to see it. Come.
Elizabeth Gibson’s work has appeared in Far Off Places, London Journal of Fiction, Severine, Ink, Sweat & Tears, Picaroon Poetry, The Fat Damsel and The Poetry Shed. She edits Foxglove Journal and the Word Life section of Now Then Manchester.