FRONT STREET
A heavy metal door slams tightly
forcing calm footed pigeons up,
vibrating humid air
as they rise over the backside of
Front Street.
Clotheslines run between red bricked buildings,
like knife blades over the alley
as curtains flap against peeling window frames
hoping for escape.
Rusted fire escapes provide summer
comfort for gossip and wine
and hearts heavy like anchors
that toss on sleepless nights.
Roger Singer 