No Lift

I am alone, stood,
stranded in the dark,
outside an unplugged,
vinyl-skinned, olde pub,
both so remote,
the last orders forgotten,
and the staff have gone;
left with no signal, no lift,
under that ever-same
stretch of try-to-name stars:
me, a witness to the late
rush of commuter cars,
and out-for-dinner suitors.
A lone owl re-calls,
but it is only discernible
when the road is lulled,
when her refrain greets
the dead heavens above,
and, for those still seconds,
Sussex returns to old ways.