A Day in the City
Hartley Butler George
the city wakes
a concrete playground for street cards and taxis
the wrinkled morning unfolds
onto the thick flesh of pavement
disheveled couples hide out in diners
love-drunk and bed creased
sharing coffee
and hash browns
giggling behind forts of newspapers
somewhere there are strikes and car crashes, big wars and small fires
but here there is just the lull of sleepy bars
stubborn traffic lights that refuse to turn
the slow phrases of a saxophone
slipping down alleys and grates
a tattered man shakes a tin can
early for his 9 to 5 on the corner
he murmurs prayers and pleas at the late workers
but sanctity only comes with the first cigarette of the day
noon arrives
ambling along the pavement with the lunch crowd
who settle in stripes of sunlight between buildings
immersed in sandwiches and the days losses
its soured deals and missed deadlines
rush hour becomes hush hour
the work force forced to work retreats
pigeons tip toe in the remnants of the day
and stain of night falls
dripping with neon
the burn of street lamps and office lights
sear the sky
and steal the stars
one
by
one
