end of day

watching life at its simple peaks,
cars parked doubly, parents, relatives,
waiting for kids,
a stage of the day goes with the sun,
traffic, love, work and worries,
also encounters, hugs, smiles, - or weeps -,
school, homework, sports, friends,
drinks after work, or go back straight
to wife and chores.

Supermarket, menial tasks
one never finds a moment for.
Shopping or books, if lucky.

Lights taking over,
claiming what's theirs in the end of day.

It's not that bad.
Not at all.
Mild claxons.
Gently afternoon.
Chrysaling into another evening.

I like to watch at it all,
a gift for a silent beholder's content,
noises muted by my double glazing,
that which keeps the heat inside,
although, in moments like this,
the heat irradiates from outside,
something reaches out to me
from the lost days of a childhood
that will always stay inside.

Same clouds.
Same pangs.
Same routines.
Same comforts everyone should have.

end of day,
it's not that bad, you know.