WHEN I CAN’T FINISH THE CROSSWORD

I go for a walk and count the cars

Of which there are, I think, far too many

My footsteps have a certain rhythm to them

I am reminded of how once I dreamed my life as a musician

A nun waits to cross to the other side of the road

Traffic lights change colour as is their habit

The corner shop is shuttered for the night

I imagine the shelves and all they hold held by darkness

A cat appears from nowhere and slips through a garden gate

I notice how he or she has a leg at each corner

Curtains are closed at the windows of your house

A light shines dimly behind its eyes

The church points at the sky

As if to indicate where we should look

Passing through the graveyard

I am reminded of the irritations of mortality

I stop to count the stars

Of which there are, I think, not enough

© Martin Stannard, 2017
illustration Nick Victor