you can't just leave a noose lying around

you can’t just leave a noose lying around

just inches away from the pavement,

separated by a thinning, late summer hedge,

a rope hangs bright, grinning

from scuffed metal scaffold.

each day, closing the site

the foreman checks padlocks, gates

even the tin toilet nudged into a corner,

smokes a cigarette;

shuffling his last lap.

he hasn’t noticed the rope.

perhaps,

he has a blind spot,

called hope.

you can’t just leave a noose lying around;

ready made, swaying in a September breeze,

high above the ground,

just a hawthorn away.

you can’t just leave a noose lying around;

because life is diamond hard,

and stone cold lonely.

and it wears you down,

and those moments come, when only

all your bridges are burned,

and your heart sinks heavy and old,

unloved; its quietest dreams untold.

and a noose, just a hawthorn away

is too sudden.

too tempting,

on the wrong kind of day.