slumber to come.

I wrote this after class.

in the distance I see
tall, green moth eaten trees
submerging themselves gradually

through tired evening smog.
I always wondered what the name of those trees were

but I suppose like a still pond coated in lily pads
beauty is to be left untouched
and the pepper-coloured concrete I burden
is somewhat comforting for my slumber to come.

But not until I know what the opposite tree is trying to whisper

to the moth eaten one
but like the dealings of a sick trade
its better not to hear about it.
I have come to appreciate the gushing green giggles anyway, which call to me
ask me to join them but alas, I must not
armies of awaiting raindrops above me, warn me
to stay dry for my slumber to come.

Every car I hear around me is screaming at me
telling me to go home already
      YOU'RE OUTSIDE AND BY YOURSELF
      GO HOME, AND SAFELY
      FOR YOUR SLUMBER TO COME

I wonder how it will finally feel like?
   perhaps as blissful and sweet-songed 
   as the lullaby of the moth eaten tree
and butterfinger clouds that keep grumbling and dropping their wet bulbs on me

Or it may be as intrusive and unexpectedly awakening
like that car that came around the corner, growling gravelley barks at me
maybe as swift and cloud ridden like those crowd peddlers across the street
pretending to be nice to me

I won't know until I'm home, you know,
after I've said goodbye to the moth eaten tree and the mysterious whisperer bowing towards it
the clouds sucking in all they hold just until I get into that car.

Rich slashes of sunset orange strips splashed across the car park's floor
reminding me that my mother is on her way
and that I miss her.

my slumber to come
will be something to hum