At around a quarter to midnight,
I shall go and look
at the world from my front
door step and take stock,
a small overdue cigar
whispering to me of times past.
In my pocket a small brown bag
with a small pinch of salt,
several pieces of coal,
a piece of brown bread
and five gold coins
hugging the paper tightly, not daring
to let go, lest the promise of better times be dashed.
I think of you, as the night and the clock draws on,