Poetry Interlude

I was finally convinced to join a "sundowners" evening ... that last hour of the day when caravaners gather in small groups to solve the world's problems. The group I joined talked the usual stuff - kids, grandkids, price off fuel, politics etc until we dwindled to four of us and one of our number dropped into the  conversation that he had escaped from East Germany by jumoing from a oving train as it passed through West Berlin!

Sundowners and Shadowlands

In the longer shadows of the orange hour

they gather to report stories

of the day's best coffee

of the week's best view

of the month's best site

of the trip's best fuel price

They background check through questions

and answers

given in caution

until the second wine soaks

wafers on loosened lips:

communion for yesterday's strangers

Soon an hour is filled with children

grandchildren

familial anecdotes

pride, despair, joy, exasperation

as their generation gasps

at successions unexpected

Bragging rights expended

the asphalt passengers drift to camp kitchens

or small galleys in fifth wheel lounge rooms

leaving the rough riders of longer roads

to their back pages

and idyl heresies

As the dark sneaks in

truth sits down to share

breakdowns, heart attacks, second marriages

till the German accent

jumps from a moving train

and freedom from East Berlin

It stops the show

The writer

dragged away

with questions dangling

in the thick air

sees freedom come again

in a smile in the shadows