Rang an old friend before Midnight,

before the clocks rang out

and Big Ben, guardian and trustee

of celebration, rememberance and morning salutation

looked at the revellers below,

crowded streets, drink passed round

the merry go round as kisses

are exchanged

and promises made, secret liaisons and encounters

hanging in the crisp night air.

I rang my friend at home, a brief call,

from my front step to his leather Lazy Boy

and whilst my year was spiralling down,

his was content,

television drowning the drowning;

I rang my friend last night

as Big Ben sounded out the death knell for the dead year.

Ian D. Hall 2016