At last, the relentless ribbon
of traffic can flick off its lights.
The haunting, painful headlamps
no longer need seek out a passage
in the dark cinder-block city
with those wide, searing yellow eyes.
Through the tenement window,
I can see faces behind the wheel,
as sunrise spreads thick and firm,ī
kills the last vampire.
Some of the cars even
pull over to the side of the road
and a man in a gray business suit
buys a newspaper,
a woman adjusts her lipstick in a mirror.
A couple slip from their
medium size, four door version of America,
kiss, then part.
A small child dashes out of
the back seat of a station wagon,
rushes up the front steps of an inner city school.
All night long, I tossed and turned in bed,
as if I was the streets
and all the nameless traffic rolled through me.
Now they are themselves and I am myself.
Itīs daylight. We can make this work.