Wet Concrete

iridescent oils play in gutter puddles

and parking lot ponds,

fracturing and reflecting

the gaze of surrounding street lamps.

a concrete desert,

refusing to swallow

the water it was given. 

the sky sags low, lit by lamplight,

almost close enough to reach up and

run my fingers through.

wind thunders down the empty storefronts,

pausing only to tousle my hair

before hurrying along.

the air feels fresh,

scoured clean by the storm,

swept south by the harvest moon.

the clouds begin to grumble again,

fomenting discontent in the heavy dark.

the city is dirty, and aches to be washed clean.

the city is dirty, but beautiful.

Reviews

[willweb]

I really enjoyed this stroll through the city. For a moment there I was there and could feel that wind, hear the thunder and revel in the beauty that you found. Nicely done.