An original poem, written by Jennifer A. Sheffield

Dim are the city lights

on the dirt, we say, that sleeps in its streets.

On even the ignoble lives,

gone grim.

Take a trip, and you’ll see around the rim.

See the scraps cut

by the center circuit of a human transport

on which only

discarded piles of chicken wings ride.

Come, inside!

My thoughts

are disguised in songs

and purged on his sax;

and I swelter in street noise up above us.

Pretending

that the wind beneath this train

blew in with the man

in the corner of this train

of mine,

who under blankets, a brown bag, and an apple,

I can’t see; if he is living.

I’m wound up, now,

not knowing if I will wake

from the dream I had when I got here

and unprotected from the warmth

of a lover, we share;

I can break, just the same as you, Sir.

I blend in, too, on the level of spilled soda pop and cigarettes

until I sneeze

down here on my knees.

He’s begging, and home safe, I’m shifting to sleep.

Sirens flare

and with the coming of night out there,

Another fight.

Spitting rain –

And for you, one last bite?

Sprinkles seem outdone tonight

by a child screaming,

and a truck at the stop sign screeching.

Upstairs, doors squeak, and all this mess surrounds us

Until in repose:

All goes down dark, but a solitary bark,

and the sleepy sigh of the city’s lark.

To sweeten the dawn.