52/ an empty bed

The sun comes out briefly
from behind the houses.
I look down from the balcony,
below, the women passing.

They know what they do,
wish I was like them.
But I’m famous enough inside my head,
not to mind returning to an empty bed.

She gives me a smile, I move to the bar.
Outside the pub, car doors slam,
and out of the car-park,
the cars turn into other evenings,
stretching out along the darkening road,
the sky falling.