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Sunday Nights
February 26, 2022
Sirens bleed through
the damp dark,
red, white, red, white,
spilling and staining
the night.
Jagged knives
of rap music
shred the curtains,
the beat throbbing, sobbing,
like the shudder of the earth’s
secret heart.
Cars, burnished sleek
by the splintered haze
of streetlights,
swerve and curve,
tires scraping wild,
unknowable alphabets
on the rough asphalt.
People stumble
in scattered clumps
along the sidewalks,
swaying to the stinging song
of alcohol in their veins.
But still,
the stars drown
in dreaming oceans,
and the wind sings
with weary oaks.
And, in her bedroom,
a girl prays
that she will still be alive
when morning breaks.
© Jordan L., Wichita, KS
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This poem was written about Sunday nights in my neighborhood.