Night Poem, October 4, 2016

 

The houses on the lawns at dusk

Have yellow eyes

The cars go gliding by

Boys play under the streetlights

Trying to look guilty

As the air cools and a breeze lifts the branches.

 

From some window down

A saxophone blows

Is this the live broadcast

Of something happening not here

But in some smoky club in Chicago?

 

Think of who might be there

Famous musicians

Beat novelists

Starting quarterbacks

 

Farther down the block

A front door opens

And a cone of  light

Spreads over the yard

She yells to him

“I don’t see anything

If you left it out here

It’s gone now.”

 

copyright 2016

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