After Hours

At sixes and sevens,
At eight and at nine…
See you close to midnight.
Quick fixes and heaven,
It’s late, we don’t mind.
We’re lonely, so we go for a ride.

When night starts to creep,
It’s the hour to haunt.
The living’s asleep,
They don’t know of our jaunts.
We meet under streetlights
By roads like a tomb
And practise our secret knocks
For secret rooms.

But I’ve…

Been missing the sun now
Too long in the dark
Am I an owl or a morning lark?
Been dreaming too often,
I want to wake up.

Still thirsty long after I’ve emptied my cup.

Small Town City Girl

The city girl in me,
she wants to play,
she wants to see
the pretty,
lambent neon lights,
the wide-awake
in dead of night,

the distant crooning
of a saxophone, the
sound of traffic,
buzz and tone of
bright and graphic
Signs advising me to
buy, buy, buy.

I love it when
nobody cares about
my hair, the way I dress,
the way I make
a mighty mess –
of things – they know:
Nobody’s perfect.

All eyes turned
to something else
Somewhere, because
life’s so much bigger,
Than the things
your next-door-neighbour
did last Saturday.

The city girl in me,
She wants to live
a life in motion,
Wants to dive
into the ocean
Of the pretty,
lambent neon lights…

The open after hours,
gleaming heights of
mighty towers looking down
on everything.
The yellow skies
on noisy evenings…

photo by: xavier portela