The Last Of The Summers Wine. Poem by Tony Cooney

I sat outside at 8 o'clock.
I noticed that the sun had stopped.
Directing light between the trees
Of 31 and 33.

I sat outside at 9 o'clock.
I noticed that the smoke had stopped.
From the once used, gas barbecue.
Burnt burger buns at 32.

I sat outside at 10 o'clock.
I noticed that the noise had stopped.
The barking dog and slamming gate.
The screaming kids at 28.

I moved inside at 11 o'clock.
I noticed that the music hadn't stopped.
The snap of cans the clink of wine.
The high pitched ladies at 29.

I was still awake at 12 o'clock.
I noticed that the crying had stopped.
The angry slam of a taxi door.
No fond farewell from those at 34