Standing on the street
of a strange town, he
looked at me and said
Well, what are we gunna do?
as if time should suddenly open
its hands and take us in
for a cup of tea in that little house
on the corner with the bird-cage in the window.
But the town looked dead —
there were cobwebs on every corner,
high up under the awnings
and in the grooves of the planking.
Then far away a guitar started up
in a familiar country and western tune
and he looked at me and said,
the future is a promise,
I always knew it would come.