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Tuesday, December 01, 2009
The City and The Town :: OhNo789 :: 0

This city sometimes
gets to noisy for people,
everything on the main street:
people yelling fire sirens blaring
horns and those cute bells on bicycles
and the planes overhead and the helicopters
and the thunder when it storms and the rain on steel
and the pigeons who roost on yours of all the windowsills,
the drunks singing, loud and proud when the bars let out at two
and the construction, oh, the construction - building to break in a year’s time,

but,  if this city is noisy, then I am noisy
when I brush my teeth before soundlessly
going to my quiet bed, for I am this city.
I am the red painted husky delivery trucks
and the steel workers conversing fifty stories up,
I am the boat’s horns, and the scores of cars,
and the people who yell through megaphones.

You, though, you aren’t.
You’re soft and quiet
like the sleepy town in PA
where I was born,
you are the morning birds
and the fresh, lush lawn,
you are dew on the lilies
and a passing bumblebee.

You, you are why I mistake cars for wedding bells
when I’m sitting in my room, stereo all the way up,
because wedding bells are soft and sweet, and maybe
maybe I need something soft.


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