I'm nine floors up, but no amount of pillows or silence
Can drown out the neighbour's dog that barks
As hard as I wish
To bite
The things that marred
That sleepless summer
Night
It
Echoes off
Concrete frowns
Desperate shouts, profanity
Aching joints and drowsy grumbles, slamming doors and
Untouched plates
Twisted words
That have no place outside, or within one's mind
Where wishes become the deadly truth
For one person's grief
Is another's relief;
At three in the morning
It goes quiet
I sleep
Dream of nothing
Wake to the news of the neighbour's dog lying dead.
No one knows why.
Perhaps it was tired
Perhaps it was scared
Perhaps it took its secrets before it could tell.
"He was a good dog," my neighbours say
In front of his grave.
"A shame he went so soon."
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YOU ARE READING
Cement City
PoetryHow to capture it all? I was no photographer My paint brushes, I have retired And words simply do not belong On a cover The same way they fit In my mouth, or march along the surface Of these pages. How to capture it all? The sounds, the smells, the...
