He finished his beer and tipped the barman,
Lingered listening, as the final note of Stardust
rose to the smoke stained ceiling of the club,
pushed his way towards the door,
climbed the stairs to street above and
stepped beyond the warm cacoon into the cold.
Coat collar up against the wind
hands in pockets, he began the walk down Queen St.
A minor gale blew litter up against his trouser legs.
At three AM the city slept except for folk like him.
Not even a garbage truck, with clanging bins
to break his reverie.
The stars were spectacular.
Whole constellations he couldn’t name
visible to the naked eye,
without a moon to overshadow.
It should have been foggy, gloomy -
then he could hide his misery.
Quickening step, he reached the bridge -
Leaned over and stared into the water far below.
The sound of the river, slapping at the pylons,
soothed, lulled, hypnotised, yet strengthened his resolve.
A vault onto the parapet, a perfect dive…
And he was gone.