Tableaux

Twilight bouncing off wet stone sidewalks
The town square Kinkade-like in ethereal light
Black pools of water shimmer in cobblestone recesses
The clock in the old tower heaves a solitary metallic sigh
The last corner shop closes up for the evening
Its lone proprietor makes his way home in huddled haste

In the shop window a little brass figurine
Stares, unmoving, at the tableau.

Languid twilight makes way for darkness
Oil lamps, lit a half-hour ago
Announce their pathetic presence with half-hearted light
Cast-iron railings cast shadows on the sidewalks
Like so many legs of a centipede

In the shop window a little brass figurine
Stares, unmoving, at the tableau.

The rusting workings of the old clock-tower
Rasp the beginnings of a series of sighs
Punctuated by metallic clangs that were once melodious
But now clamor like a querulous grandparent
An owl hoots in the ancient rafters, and
The cobblestone street is a giant black scorpion in the night.

In the shop window a little brass figurine
Stares, unmoving, at the tableau.

A straggling drunk returning from out of town
It’s payday; did he squander it all?
Shuffling feet play hide n seek with the centipede's legs
Hands, clutching possessively at a bottle neck,
Steady it with excruciating care for a swig

In the shop window a little brass figurine
Stares, unmoving, at the tableau.

A shadowy movement outside the lamplight
A blur too swift for sight
Leaded leather contacting hairline
With mortal thud
A body sprawls on the cobble stones
Green glass bottle rolling away into the darkness

In the shop window a little brass figurine
Stares, unmoving, at the tableau.

A rapid rifling of pockets
Exaggerated movements to avoid
The silently pooling blood
Frustrated rummaging
A whispered curse
An expletive and oath at a night’s labor lost

In the shop window a little brass figurine
Stares, unmoving, at the tableau.

A derelict cottage in the poorest part of town
No candlelight: the last having long burnt down
An urchin in rags
Undernourished and pale
Stares through the window in fruitless vigil

Far away, in the town square
In the shop window, the little brass figurine
Stares, unmoving, at the tableau.