City Day
Dawn drags its thumb across the skyline,
coffee steam fogging bus windows,
sneakers slap wet pavement in time
with traffic lights blinking go, go, go.
Noon is sirens and scaffolding songs,
a pretzel cart’s salt in the air,
strangers passing, belonging
to the same hurried prayer: get there.
Afternoon sun glints off glass towers,
shadows cut sharp between buildings,
someone’s laughter spills from a side street
a small rebellion against the grumbling.
Dusk pours neon into puddles,
homebound trains hum their steel lullaby,
the city exhales in a thousand windows
clicking gold, one by one, against the sky.
Night doesn’t sleep, it just lowers its voice
footsteps, takeout bags, a distant sax,
and somewhere a rooftop holding
all of us awake.
©oriole_b
R