In The Middle of the City
Late in the night in the city
where you once lived.
A single car sits in the lot
below the single streetlight.
It is quiet now. A rarity.
You have affinity for dark streets.
Empty streets. Rows of buildings
with a few night owl lights scattered,
still on. Still awake.
safe in their brick cocoons.
You were always told the streets were dangerous
at this hour. Perhaps. Probably even,
but still they sang to you
when the daytime did not.
You survived just fine.
Survived so well, you have no stories to tell,
no exciting moments, just images
of the darkness and silence
and the beautiful loneliness that can only be found
in the middle of the city.
About this poem
I used to work in cities. I would stay late after visiting clients, just to enjoy the change from madcap to maudlin. A special kind of beauty.
The picture was taken in New York City. Not far from Presbyterian Hospital.