I wait...
until the crowds have thinned
Until the cars are gone
And the streets...
Empty
The curbs,
cluttered with trash
The stores,
Emptying
As last-minute shoppers
Make their last dash
Then, the last
Straggling owners
Shutter their store doors,
And echoes of clanging iron -
Steel locks against the burglar bars-
Fade and die slowly...
Away
I look
For some dry place,
Some nondescript
Abode
Just far enough away
That I won't catch the gaze
Of Johnny Ley
And close enough to light
Not to entice
The predators that prowl
In the darkest nooks of night
The best benches in the park
Are gone
As are bus terminal benches
And booths of public phones
I've slept on concrete benches
Of soft cement
Steel bench arm rest pillows
That seem to bend
We'll have to wander through the streets
And duck in doorways
When scanning spotlights say
Hay viene Johnny Ley
Where, oh where, to go?
The last recourse, I will not go
There it is always silent
Quiet,
No noise
A soft, eternal snore
That gently stirs the ground
And shakes, and wakes you
To look around
And see no one
No, the city cemetery is out
I'd rather walk
All night
Tired, exhausted, beat
Than hear their silent screams
Theirs, the ones that always sleep
All the good resting places
Have been taken
Except for that
And sometimes, I must confess,
Weariness tugs me there
To come and stay
And pull me down
Under the grass