I can almost pretend I’m elsewhere.
Half past four, the light nearly gone,
like that afternoon walk in Leicester Square
when I was filled with dark joy.
The cold and damp bone deep
in that pervasive London way.
I grew up in an oppressive climate,
air leaden with hiss and moisture.
I envy regions with short days,
chart weather patterns
for low-lying clouds and threats of rain.
I am the reverse of seasonal affective disorder –
turn out the lights.
Autumn comes later now,
thanks to politicians and lobbyists
with nothing better to do than kill time.
Day lingers as landscapes turn gray,
the wind in the leaves telegraphing
in cracks and shudders
for the night to come.
Photo by Christoper Sessums