I Know The Dark Nights Poem by Alistair Graham

Jesus, it must be
five to twelve,
or ten past,
or fifteen to one,
or never ran,
or fell at the post

I scan the walls for a clock;
there is no time
like the present
yet I fail to find the gift

I see tortured mortar and bricks,
hear groans and screams
from a faceless façade.
I know the dark nights
will sit it out
until the atomised blocks
lose their last
sense of whole,
until the wrinkled faces crack up
like china in a shop with a bull
who is powerless to make a purchase
or control its galloping legs
that hurtle the huge hunk of flesh
from one disaster to another

Never the less,
it's a school night;
I should go to bed,
leave the bricks
alone with their tragedy