Before they changed the streetlights to orange
bedrooms were dark enough for ghosts
to mumble between floorboards
hungering for the toes of children.

On no-moon nights shadows slid
along alleyway walls,
while an ear-strain away on the path behind
                              footsteps tapped,
stars the only witness.

Before they changed the streetlights to orange
there were no mechanical eyes
clicking round the town square to spy on
the carnal abandon of teenagers.

Now city night skies burn vermilion
around the guttering moon,
and all you can see through the trespassing glare
is a pinpoint shiny satellite
                              watching you.