Long city streets packed with countless angry, screaming cars
crossed by tracks that groan under the weight of the rushing L’.
A million windows, shades open in the dark, replace the stars.
Below we juggle coats, gloves, pepper spray, groceries, mail.
Always running late. Always my fault. Always blame the train.
“Cigarettes! Candy! Socks!” New day. New guy. Same yell.
Look up, curse the sky, clear at eight but now there’s rain
Steam curls up off the sidewalks, raises the old city smell.
Glancing in packed lobbies, longing to see a fancy show
but instead wandering side streets. Warning instincts swell.
“Hey girl! Want some fun?” I ignore him. “You fucking ho!”
Back on my street. Safer, not safe. Streetlights dim and pale.
Hard place of concrete and glass. People packed in tight.
I hear some say open land is where we’re meant to dwell.
But me? I like the the rush, the anonymity, the push, the fight;
I prefer the hell of chaos to the hell
***The last line is from on of my favorites, “Possibilities”, by Wislawa Szymborska***