BACKGAMMON

Here are the dregs of summer days
Locked away like solitaire,
Euchre, chess, and backgammon,
In a mind
That’s trying to recall
The bluff of someone blind.

Walking, writing, reading, strumming —
All the windows' strobing lights
Irradiate the crisis coming
And set us all up in their sights.

Sunsets run away in glum greys
Rendered clear by humid air,
Water colours drip on architraves
Of true views
That appeal to us
To turn off the lying TV news.

Trending, surging, bursting, swelling —
All the numbers make a wave
That never crashes, all impelling
Like a madcap’s laughing rave.

And when did the dream go up in smoke?
And why didn’t I get the joke?

(With acknowledgements to the music and lyrics of Syd Barrett)