In Still Life

Strangers exchange words
through damp, polluted air.

People hurry,
fill subway trains,
push through crowds,
shout obscenities.

A gun shot follows:
scream, pain,
blood, death.

Blaring horns encircle:
red and blue lights,
fighting spectators,
flashing paparazzi cameras,
and chasing ambulances.

All in a New York minute,
if you can make it here.
New York (in still) life.

15 thoughts on “In Still Life

  1. Really liked the poem, made me feel like I was in New York’s rush where it sometimes seams as if no one has any time to take notice of accidents or anything.
    Also I want to thank you for stopping by my blog and for taking the time to like my post! :)

    Liked by 1 person

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