Going Home

Streetlights yellow, my shadows long.
I hear my heels strike on the tar.
I walk the carpark going home,
through sound of laughter from afar,
through smell of dinner freshly fried,
a couple by the window admire the night,
a mother canes a child somewhere,
the TV blasts without a care,
a dark room waits with windows closed,
a cigarette sucked and briefly glows,
a door slams shut, driven by wind,
a dog left alone barks unceasing.
These myriad windows
lighted or unlighted,
each moment fast becoming the passed
as streetlights mellow, my shadows long,
as I walk the carpark going home.