The Nighthawks (after Edward Hopper)

The Nighthawks
(After Edward Hopper)

This little harbour
Where bored pupils moor their boots
In the faggy mist.
School is forgotten now,
Stubbed out
As we dawdle and drag.
Trawling for laughter,
Our words are puffed out
Or held in the heart
Expelled in perfect gossiping rings.
Through the window,
In the streets,
Afternoon spills into evening
A rush-hour tide of flowing feet and faces.
The moon is a silver spoon.
Lights come on in the café.

Every word has been said now.
The chink of cup and spoon is done
As we fumble for change
And disperse like sugar
Dissolving into the caffeine city
With peppermints handy for questioning parents;
But for the moment we are sails,
Filled up with ourselves
Heading homeward
Through the dregs
Of dusk.