In the City

On skyscrapers’ mirrored façades,
bruised shadows, bluish,
reflecting the mystery
of loneliness in a crowd,
as mad sidewalks stamp their clout,
chiding pedestrians
into limits between signals.

Foreboding lack of consciousness
through moving metal,
packed street gasps for air,
fuming and coiling with inner rot,
like a hobo in moth-eaten rags
afraid to take roots,
with nowhere to go.

Playing down inner grief,
store-fronts pose
in gentle seduction,
making up stories
they can’t finish
but succeeding
to manipulate materialism.

And I, in front
of a showcase
offering wigs,
stop and dream
of the way
my mother’s hair used to fall
in a curve of gold.