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poetry

The lamp

I remember early nights in 2018
When the sun would start to walk home
And the moon, ever so shy, ever so present
Would begin to bear down on us. 

And she always came with her first born,
Who shone as the sun would near his place of rest. 
We would play for hours, forget about time.

Then watch the policeman who decided when to flash his lamp
By watching madam moon
from the back of his head
Sputter to life, flicking light on and off undecidedly. 

He was confused. 
Or telling us in Morse that it was finally time we took our baths.

It's been so long since I waved the sun goodbye, or watched the lamp sack me home.