between our shoes

After painting did we meet
for a cigarette in the street,
the three of us and full of glee,
and full of jokes accordingly,
dark it was, we saw the moon
who'd disappear so very soon,
then something moved and small it was.
Was it frightening? It took its course,
and stiff we grew like trees so old,
our feet not feeling yet the cold,
and then quite slowly, did appear,
a hedgehog without any fear,
between our shoes, six in all,
old-fashioned and modern, big and small.
We let it  pass, rigid  like stones,
yet exhilerated to the bones,
without any booze, without champagne ...
something you wait for, but mostly in vain.

November  5th, 2o15
 

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