Through the underpass, darkly

Wheeling home alone.

Pink-lit shadows of dusk

at my care-worn shoulder

three pissed Irishmen

spinning too fast,

yelling “The Girls Are So Pretty!”

You used to sing that

sending flat pebbles dancing

skimming over the water

impressing my daughters.

There should have been

light at the end of this tunnel.

© Sophia Roberts

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