The wind was not whispering...

No one saw me
late last night
last night at three
when I walked home
yes yes alone
teetering atop garden fences
and gleaming letter boxes
of respectable people it seems
dreaming some last dreams
asleep under covers
not to discover my
leaping from post to post
against the demanding darkness
skirting their sombre cats ghostly
eyeing me in silent starkness.
Perhaps only they saw
the merry twirl in the middle of the roundabout
oh yes perhaps or
the practically
mad
shout
and other almost artless acts
running down the straight straight tram tracks
unrumbled under street lights
very late last night.
I think even the possums were asleep
surely.