DAY(DREAM) # 9,377 Poem by Alfred Schaffer

I'd been home maybe an hour
when I slipped out again.
Not long before the sun would set
I walked up the road to the woods behind the railway line
and the football pitches, carrying my homemade spear.
Its point a dreadful screech.
They said a dog had got out
some rare breed, jet black as a sermon,
the froth that was on its jaws.
Barking to stay ahead of the darkness
I flitted after my shadow between the trees
until a solid curtain was ripped away.
Something was there, half-buried under a few leaves and sand.
I raised my spear, took a step forwards and froze.
As though I had suddenly forfeited the right to speak -
my T-shirt stuck to my body
the prism of my skin was like a flickering dream
For a short time I emitted light
and then I was put out.