Walking along the dimly lit streets,
No sound to be heard but the tap of my feet.
Then off in the distance a car door slams shut
I feel as though everything’s muffled and what
Cannot be heard is of much more import.
Things are afoot of subliminal sort.
Passing the mailbox I look at the light
On the top of the post to push back the night.
“Off with your head” I call out at the lamp,
When suddenly all is in darkness and damp.
“It was a joke, a jest not a threat”
Who knew a street light could get so upset?
You might start to wonder what passes between
My ears as I walk back to where I have been.
“He talks to the lamp post, he talks to his cat,
What could have happened to make him do that?”
The answer is simple, my mind IS all there,
But truthfully all was conceived in my chair.