Foyle Street (2)

Grey and drab it was in the evening
when the rhythm of work and men had ceased
save for the lights-

Stop!
Get ready!
Go!

and the hoardings proclaiming to no one.
And when the sky was black,
the orange lamps lighted,
and the street and the mill-face ghastly:
it was time for bed,
for the orange glow through the blinds,
and the light, elongated,
that sometimes, passed across the ceiling.


© Cormac McCloskey