Sounds of the City
The garbage men are the first to be heard,
beeping, bumping, throwing, thumping.
The work of their hands
leave nothing but empty cans
scattered on the curb.
Children rise and run late
heavily backpacked.
The crossing guard blows her whistle
and scurries them inside white lines
with their weight that nearly bends them back.
Day drives on to sun blast.
Trains shake overhead.
So many different tongues rise from sidewalks
up subway stairs
through turnstile gates
that sing to every swiping hand.
It’s not even eight
and I’ve heard enough for a day.
I plug my ears with song from a different sphere.
My city doesn’t make a sound
that I can hear.
June 19, 2016
for Sounds of the Day - Poetry Contest
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