Tall buildings cast overlapping shadows.
It’s night long before nighttime.
Last of the commuters catch their train, their bus.
Garages empty out.
The few inner city dwellers
lock and latch the doors
of their small fortresses.
At street level,
two men approach each other.
It’s dark. Identities are smudged.
Is it? No it can’t be?
Wasn’t he the one who… ?
And didn’t he…?
They nod as they pass –
recognition or just acknowledgment
that there’s no other in this world –
neither gives an indication.
Each hears footsteps
on the concrete sidewalk,
softer and softer,
farther and farther away.
Then all would be silent
if it weren’t for themselves.
But they don’t feel responsible,
just alone.
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Published in Nebo, Euphony, Columbia Review, Leading Edge, Poetry East and Midwest Quarterly.
Foxglove Journal 