There Can Be No Future In A Restless City

“Blessed are the dead that the rain falls upon” they said,
As eyes leaked
Isolated and unpunctual tears,
And the wind blew brittle leaves
To cover drunken faces
Laying helplessly in the unforgiving gutters.
Your expression - remote and unessential,
Staring up at a sullen overhanging sky and lusterless moon.
They spoke of the rain and you in worried, uncertain tones,
Not unlike my phone call to you that night last year.

“Will you ring again?”
The connection came through
Thin and far away,
And in the background --
Faint and incessant laughter
As if our youthful selves had returned.
“I’m five years too old to lie to myself, and call it honor.”
Was all you managed to divulge
Before the quick squawk of our connection breaking.

We had moved carelessly,
Coming together and moving reluctantly apart
In an impersonal, restless city.
Angry and half in love with you
I take the stiff, wet laundry from the line
And clean up the mess you left in your wake.