There’s a city full of people
right outside my window.
There’s a city full of people
and no one to talk to.
There’s a city full of people
strolling down the sidewalk,
pattering across the pavement,
caterwauling, cavorting, canoodling.
People talking with their hands and toes,
chalking figures on the concrete,
cementing ideas with other characters.
A city full of people
but I am a lone fish.
Leaves rustle in the breeze, in the trees.
Busses bustle, freeze for bikers stacking racks.
Runners hustle, catching busses, climbing busses,
missing busses. Commuting. Cavorting. Transporting.
Supporting the local economy, bussing and buying.
Guys trying beers. Eyes spying queers.
There’s a city full of queers.
You can’t throw a stone in Uptown…
It’s an easy, breezy summer’s day
and there a city full of people.
I step out my door, I stand on my stoop,
I snoop for a glimpse of a chance
for a wish, for a beat, for a dance.
The rhythm of the air brushes through my hair,
swipes a sip of a kiss, touches the tip
of my nose, goes sauntering and sashaying
down the alleyway, banters with a
beagle and a bantam.
Rests a pause.
The rhythm of the air beats a beat
on my temple, whispers wishy-washy
melancholy scents in my nostrils.
Weeps on the corner
and sings from the station stops!
This is a city full of people!
And it lives! And they live!
And the wind strums out a lively ditty
for the whimsey and the witty
in this jam-packed, people-packed
tune-whistling, time-bristling city.
It’s got a song in it’s heart
and a leap in it’s step
and I yearn to sing along–
to march to the beat of this song
to not be a solo, solitary peg in the throng.
Derečinko Ink! 