Thursday, September 11, 2014

City (or In which I try to write again)

Someday, maybe, I'll stand and look back
At this city, at this time where you and I
Made stories out of cardboard boxes
And laid them bare under rainy skies.

This dusty city of dustier bylanes where
I saw traffic lights change colour in your eyes
And this time when we drank rum
In paper cups; the air littered with fireflies.

This city of melting roads bursting at their seams
Will always be ours to sigh over, and cry over
In spite of all the roads that wait to be walked
And all the maps your feet need to cover.

Of course it floods under ten minute rains
And burns under the stench of old tyres
But it has seen us lean in midnight stupors
And watched us blow off, and burn in our domestic fires.