4th lane way

By Grace Redfern


4th lane way,

down past the traitor trees

that hang with tired tyre swings

and tulips on a tethered string.

don’t stray far,

your letterbox is hidden in autumn leaves

that crumble and crunch under

heavy autumn boots.

is it that time again?


you sleep in

narrow avenues where streetlights

come and go.

they’re here to visit

but not to stay,

reflecting through rose tinted glass:

a star,

skin on display in a burning summer dress

bright throats until the end.


so soon?

was it worth it?

we tick on by,

continuing to tick on,

even when our lips

taste strawberries and peaches

of glass shards ripping us apart.

we’re so fragile, after all.

twenty-four hour clock,

tied to the past,

always stuck at 4.


4th lane way,

you resent our firework touch,

charred handprints cover your door

of those that lived

loved

and burnt.


a life is lived.

a life so short.

but a lifetime of lives.

live within your walls.


4th lane way,

you’re never the same.

your chameleon kitchen

sheds its summer skin,

and smothers out

what we left behind.


winter rubble shakes: the ground, the air,

the desperate doors

and the dealings that deal when they close.


4th lane way,

you are changed,

we paint you bright, lonely colors

drowning out our fear

smothering the fear of those before us.

what do you fear?

do you, too,

fear the fatal shot of time

and the silence that follows the

tick?


we’re gone again,

here to visit,

but not to stay.

you can’t move forward,

tied to your roots,

always stuck

at 4th lane way.

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