Evening Streets

The sidewalks are so deathly
quiet, almost all you can hear
are the airplanes up above,
the city resplendent with empty
trains shrieking with purpose
toward anywhere but here.

Still lifes in the window
frame football on old TVs.
Some old French movie
flashing in black & white.
The new season of lives
of people they’ll never know.

The bars are boarded up.
Eerie, even, for a Monday
night before another election.
There will be riots (protests).
The silence says it depends
on what side you stand.

The dog doesn’t notice
it’s still the same block
when it offers up new smells,
tonight, same as any other.
Thankfully, for some
there is enough.

The intersections empty themselves.
Find no strength to bear their cross.
Everything so important tomorrow
and meaningless in hindsight.
You set the alarm early for the morning,
knowing it will all turn out some way

is no way to live.