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November Insomnia
The bus shuts its doors and rumbles up the road
Holding a single passenger.
On the roof of the coffee shop across the street
A pigeon hops on one leg, strangely
Awake, recalls when it had another.
The trees whisper and hush before the possible
Sound of a drunk woman laughing by herself.
An hour later you think you hear a fight
On the sidewalk below your window.
A man yells, "What are you doing?"
So you prepare to be horrified
And descend the stairs
In cheap slippers and stained track pants,
Careful to avoid the steps that creak.
From the porch you see no one,
And wonder if it was your weary
Imagination, after so many months
Of wandering off in different directions
And never taking you anywhere.
By dawn it could be Monday.
They sky does what you want
By obscuring the shadows on the pavement
And the empty roof above the coffee shop.
In the otherwise barren park opposite,
A dozen grey pigeons stand motionless
As if we're all waiting for something to happen.
Also from Oliver Ho:
The Sour Toe Cocktail
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