It's Still Life

Midnight on London Road

They’ve cleaned the streets,
water racing into shallows, into
rushing rivers toward the curb.
The road glares up at me, all slick
silver and black from street lamps
shining, like moon-struck pearls,
hanging, dazzling me. And a cab
goes by. Someone going somewhere,
I suppose. The tyres; the water;
the noise wakes a tramp. He rolls over,
pulls himself deeper into shadows.
Shuffles comfort into his spine.
He knows he’s going nowhere,
like a river going nowhere.
It just glitters cold and thin.

for dVerse Poets