The streets are almost empty,
the echo of the peak hour stampede a memory,
as a paper wrapper skims the pavement
in an intermittent bluster,
as the smell of the emptiness pervades,
and neon s light up as sun fades,
as the grit of day passed, settles.
Shadows long cut the walkways,
as final rays stretch in last breath yield,
as shadows consume the days end,
and lights colored stark, appear,
as solemn steps by a few stragglers, ring,
padding sneakers and clicking stilettos,
echo sharp against weary walls.
Traffic hums in exodus,
flashing lights, blinkers and beams cutting night,
the smell of rubber and metal fumes array,
as stars appear over this day decay,
peaking through slow cloud strays,
and a last orange flash from horizon’s womb,
a day done tomb.
Down the west end, neon light beginnings,
clubs and eateries full,
chatter, wine and beer on tap resumes,
to dull the problems that day consumes,
and laughter lingers long,
rejecting heavy brows with mirth,
as salacious gathering exact a lonely wanting.
And darkness encroaches the city,
settling down, dust amassed in past,
and office buildings a thousand square lights,
as glass and metal spires reach for heaven,
and workers late do strive for raises and promotions,
chasing better lives,
each day in prison walls.
Those who escape, sit weary eyed,
in front of the TV, with meals upon their laps,
wondering where it’s at,
and beckoning bed does call,
until that morning light will draw
another city day to being,
days like stars an endless march of life.
Tony DeLorger © 2017