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All Night Cards

The strangled room,

     silently suffocated by smoke and

     quietly acquiescent in the tar-stained sunlight,

     receives no rest this morn.


The squint-eyed squad,

     quietly confident, who choke on

     silently soothing menthol and tip,

     deceive the rest till dawn.


Tea-cups litter hearth and chair,

Cornflakes capture eyes that stare

And wish for sleep, for slumber pray.

Fools, who know it now, are stone-

And poker-faced, and watch, and moan,

As ash engulfs a groaning tray.


And still they play …

 


 


Copyright: Richard Fox 1967
All rights reserved

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Filed under My poems