The headlights keep appearing
(deep into night)
against the bedroom wall.
They repeat in a pattern
(stenciling net curtains)
distorted clarity rises then falls.
The light is not headlamp yellow
(the decoration has a hue)
a hint of pink blushes the room.
A moment of feint company awakens,
(as if all else is dead)
then loneliness returns with the gloom.
What room..what house..
is this a memory of
where lights flash in darkest night?
Two rooms of pink I can recall
(Gran’s house or student house?)
that could perhaps fit the bill.
A Devon terrace at the fore
(Fore street to be precise)
of childhood’s fun and thrill.
Twin beds for Gran and Grandad,
but I believe I never slept alone
in their room of mature rose.
A Welsh terrace on the silent road
(Ffordd Tegid it is true)
where student exile nursed my woes.
I was alone for many a month
(this could be the source)
but rarely shined this cul-de-sac.
I can’t place where I was
although I sense unease,
(no one watched my back).
I think of other bedrooms
and remember gentle snores,
but they lack the isolation.
Once more I sleep in a room
where headlights search the walls,
but here I’m warm and comforted,
so why dwell on this desolation any more?
Ffordd = Road, Tegid = silent/serene