Before it's too late

Distant bells clatter on cloud fed weathered skies where darkness creeps past low light vestibules, faded beams flicker Short skirts wave in a winter wind, breezy attributes revealing fishnet thighs calling to the next hidden passenger, batting lashes and blowing bubbles of stale gum placed under crushed velvet seats worn in places, stained deliberately for bragging rights and handkerchief blotting A ghostly mist lingers as lips are touched up, bright red, crimson, shades of desire, occupational decisions, advertisements leaking into sewers and hopscotch squares spread along the avenue Silhouettes in porch lanterns, whistling…so unladylike, ducking constables with nightsticks swinging like the clapper in those damn bells waking the unsuspecting and spooking the transients offering a few coins for a ten-dollar dream Swine wallows in last week’s gossip, slimy little beings fat on sausage and biscuits, cursing the rats pushing their way in below curtains and kitchen windows framing inquisitive eyes, watching cash change hands and satisfied smirks on the faces of those wiping feet on mats, greeting the family in disguise, shirt un-tucked, long day rewards and dinner on the table Yesterday’s newspaper tumbles down the walk, clinging to signposts, featuring headlines of death, a warning in bold print, still at large, a menace to society in a grey overcoat, double breasted and fancy shoeprints in the fresh mud No further traces except the body, contorted and frozen, smeared faces littering cobblestone gutters, frightening children and pets, as passersby look to second floor balconies, oblivious Midnight calls, staggering drunkards exit Chauncey’s, hard up and spent, slurred laughter, boisterous to hide worries and tomorrow’s jobs, time clock lies and penciled in wishes Iron fence posts rust at the gateway as they glance to the headstones of friends long past and recent memories, sensing the urge, seeing the painted nails and low-cut blouses, thinking… before it’s too late While from a secluded archway…

Author's Note

Sorry for the length, I got a little carried away with this one. I hope you enjoy it any way if you read it. Thanks...Will

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

You did well well Will. I read three times. You are a amazing story teller. You create many visions and you left the reader with something to think about. You used the description with great skill. I liked the details of each set of lines. Thank you for sharing the outstanding poetry.
Coyote

[Soren]

Thanks so much Coyote for your review and most kind words.

[Coyote Poetry]

You are welcome Will.

[Soren]

This left me focusing on the how we all do what we think we have to do, regardless of its consequences. Prostitution, a dangerous profession, the grittiness of life and death as it goes on day to day. The title appears deliberately ambiguous and can be taken as run out of time or too late at night, a time for this type of activity. Very gritty and almost noir.

[willweb]

Thanks so much Soren. I was trying for a Noir feel and that made my night that you brought it up. I appreciate your read and comment Thanks again.