Halloween
The chapel stands, patiently.
Whispering to the night,
Angels guard
(Their faces smooth
And innocent of feeling),
Long worn bare by the nagging rain
And the constant, bullying wind.
Soaked to the bone,
The people still
All laid in rows
in that mortal dormitory
Under the stars -
An easy place for
Furtive snogs
And the ritual scattering of chip wrappers.
The only noise
The occasional knock
of footbone on wood
As a particularly heavy train
Conducts an orchestra of vibrations
Through the earth.
In Pembroke Gardens
Archie is donning
His cheaply discount plastic mask,
A skull in glossy lime and purple,
It’s Pound Bargain's best.
It was all quite quick, really.
Archie steps into the road,
A car comes along.