Background Noise
July 29 2008


You can hear your heartbeat
waiting for sleep to come.
The room, still
the night, muffled;
your ear pillowed,
undercover.



You can hear the world start-up
when the wind is done.
Insects click and buzz,
the life-blood
of the garden.
A squirrel runs
in sudden starts and stops,
scurrying along the fence-top.
And birdsong,
emerging out of nowhere.



Even at 2 in the morning
the city is noise;
but by then, you can make out its stories.
The screech of brakes,
a horn that won’t let go.
Another siren dopplers by
— by now you hardly notice.
Edgy laughter, walking past.
And a giddy voice
drifts-in from the dark,
clicking across the city’s hard surface,
wobbly
on long pointy heels.

You feel less lonely
when the city’s like this.
In daylight, it’s oblivious;
ghosting through 2 million souls
unnoticed.
But at 2 am, your voice will likely be heard:
They’ll ignore you
screaming bloody murder.
Speak softly, though
and someone’s sure to listen.