Light pollution, mute pollution

It's dark outside apart from a distant white light that hangs like neon fog (neo fog?) behind the trees and the telephone lines. Is it possible they're still playing soccer at this hour, the light catching on the iridescent numbers of their shirts as their cleats dig into the wet pitch?

I brace myself here, my legs still peddling up hill.

It smells of heat.

There are no edges to the fog.

I look at it again and the telephone pole is lit up from behind like a marquee by a searchlight in the rain. But the light is still and the rain falls and the pole becomes a lighthouse in the neon fog.

Neo light.