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