Late Walk Home

My final walk is chalk-marked
[primary colours & a bruise of
pinks] & above here rainbows
[bled in felt tips] are tacked to
innards of smudged glazing &
then rattles on pans & healing
of stale unneighbourly tiffs – a
gift on Acacia Drive/ I listen to
hisses as a small kid cries out
[overtired] disagreeable wails –
ask her for cuddles & whines’ll
fade & a conversation at 10pm
will drain into sleep’s quietuide
[I should know – being trained –
a father never dies – he wanes]
Here – not alleys – but twittens/
Old sodium lamps [spilling out
light pollution] guide me up my
hill – on a path between hedges
.& into two ghosts – of glow & a
shadow-friend – rust on a slope
home – always slow-ascending
as if embrace of sleep will cure
us virus-luggers/ I’ll recuperate
once I return from my saunter?