Shadowy unruly pendants; the tales
of fate misguided, the language of
drowning without answers.
Like potted houseplants turning into
the sun, people wait for that taste of a
good watering.
Every corner holds the treasure for
an attempted escape.
A piano without tune falls silent.
A ceiling fan spins out of boredom. A
floor lamp imagines it’s a missile waiting
for a lighted match.
The city holds its occupants hostage.
Stop lights hold back the green. Subways
rattle without stopping. Cabs run for cover.
The city is caretaker till the last breath.
Roger Singer 