There is little to look at now,
sitting on the back stoop
drinking coffee--alone before dawn,
without the company of birds.
Beneath a sickly gray cover of clouds
(sickly because they reflect the gaseous
light of human occupation)
noise carries from the Radnor Yards,
squeals and siren soundings,
couplings and uncouplings all night long,
an orgy of trains.
Poetry and song and maybe culture
- ▼ 2003 (31)