140 – Grey Plastic Skies

Poem number 140
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Grey Plastic Skies
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Grey plastic wheelie bins in a row along the street
Under grey plastic skies. Summer has sounded the retreat
Back to Autumn, six weeks yet until the withdrawal is complete –
Just a warning, these grey plastic skies.
.
No lamps needed yet when I rise from my bed
I can still see the wardrobe, though the morning light is now wed
To shadows, a grim foreboding of the darkness ahead
As I leave under grey plastic skies.
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A breeze in the air now as I walk my commute
Sun hidden behind cloud, temporarily overawed. It is still resolute
To hold forth, later on in the day when the need is acute
But for now cedes to grey plastic skies.
.
The foliage still rampant green, close order drill
I let my eyes rove over trees still in bloom, knowing enough to eat my fill
Of Summer. Soon it will be time to find a waiter and ask for the bill
Coffee mints under grey plastic skies.
.
A reward, this, for the sin of arising early for work
The warnings of impending Autumn will be hidden from those who lurk
Still in bed. Only waking when the sun has burnt off the murk
And all signs of the grey plastic skies.
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Those who have missed this first act will no doubt enjoy their blue skied day
Basking in the warmth and sunlight, forgetting that Autumn just weeks away
Will bring change. I will enjoy it differently, as the middle act of the play
That will end under grey plastic skies.

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