AN ENGLISH UN-EVENING.

There must be somewhere: a dark pane, a doorway,
A tree stem, a lost lane,
Without a pointed camera or roving eye,
Where the privacy of night life isn’t compromised.

Night time takes a turn for good reason:
Confusion, evasion, supplemented relations,
But unfortunately, whilst illuminated falsely,
It undermines all callers’ small needs.

In the sunless high life, hot lit, back strips,
It doesn’t play well caught wearing another wife’s hips;
Morning news reading is used past the point
Where the afternoon ends and the evening joins.

But no local harm raised above voice will come,
As these are the same spineless we are being delivered from:
We’ll take theirs, and they’ll accept it;
The women gladly, the men expected.

And nothing will decorate the night enough to find us,
Because we’re abusing more than day’s blindness,
As are you, and your old shadow habits,
Which, you assured, were additional shifts.