HID BENEATH THE SUN

A revised poem this post. You can read the original draft here.
Thanks go to Paul Mortimer for assistance with the revision. 
I think the poem is has a clarity that it lacked previously.

He carried a torch for me

far longer than was healthy.

I knew this by the cards,

and the telephone's pleading cry in the night

eventually I did not answer.

Forty years would pass before I watched

his father cross Bold Street,

and I saw the man he had grown into.

Seated in the anonymous window

of a nameless tea-house,

I hid beneath the sun

that sucked the light from his hand

I did not rush outside,

nor did I think of him again.

It has no basis in reality. The ideas had been swimming about in my head for some time and they came together on the page.
I have been listening to Tracey Thorne's first solo lp a lot recently. Here's EBTG.

Here's Plain Sailing.

Until next time.