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No End To It

Where buses spew forth fumes,
on a curb, her hand round a cigarette.
With forceful gait he emerges
from the five-o’clock-crowd
Recruited as protagonists
for the play you’d have me perform,
gaining in confidence
they speak their own words
Their demands appear ludicrous
They ask for a glass of water,
a few flat loaves,
a tablespoon of sugar,
a match…  Between echoing traffic
and the stealth of dusk
…a bottle of cheap rum,
a blanket, passersby slip away
a glass of water, a few flat loaves
.
There's no end to it
a tablespoon of…

Though darkening streets
manhandle all who remain,
a temple alcove’s refuge
The blanket they speak of
warms us.  With them
we sleepwalk past the angry,
the pained, the vengeful
There’s no end to it! 
A narrow lane,
a woman bends to her sewing,
a sunken abattoir,
a face at a window
Do we wake?  Despite the blanket
Do we shiver?
.

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Copyright @ 2001, 2002 by Wayne Amtzis. All Rights Reserved.

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