Too Late

There is a dark and hungry hour
before this bed
when nothing is awake
but owls, hedgehogs, bats and deer,
drivers and nurses watch their dials flicker;
lovers; the yawning engineer
patient as porridge, after storms have torn
through power-lines, must twist and test each wire,
till pylons heave and crackle
before dawn.

Alison Brackenbury

If you've any comments on this poem, Alison Brackenbury would be pleased to hear from you.