Snapshots of Downtown

 

the scar of crumbling bricks, dangling
slabs of wood, pipe, and rebar
dirt smoothed rough and uneven
over the city’s secret doorways
into passages into
nothing,
the pigeons packed tighter than life
on ledges so thin they fade

only one street north, another building
hollowed out and spilling infrastructure intestines
sad trails of steel and concrete
echoing the mute pain of this vacant lot

at my feet, a single white feather
floating haphazardly in a clump of dead autumn leaves
when I touch them,
they crumble with a brittle snap
but the feather
remains

a camo cowboy passes me without a pause,
smelling of cigarettes and stale tortilla chips
dressed like that, he must be
a hero to someone,
even if only to himself

when I step inside,
the women speaking loudly and pompously
of Art suddenly whisper

dimmed stagelights: waiting
to be filled with sound and substance; for now
the room is holding its breath in silence
as a single candle wavers between life and death
on an abandoned tabletop, tossing the reflection
of light
onto the windowglass
in the reflection,
the light is steady

two trains crash by at once,
their thunder extending much further
into the distance than their own length
crushing the night
with cacaphony

everybody on 1st Ave speeds

empty tables of romance,
candlelit for two and begging
for purpose

an older couple in leather jackets leave
the restaurant to
dance a few turns on the sidewalk
beneath the streetlamps, the
stars, the towering night