The City Poem by Rovert Nworb

Someday I'll live in the city
In a nice house in a house row
With a wooden floor and
some walls half brick, half white
A creaky staircase
Old creaky windows
A funny couch right out of the 20's
A record player on a desk in the corner
A kitchen table
Some counters, all worn out
But that's alright
My bedroom
A bed in a room, a dresser,
a mirror, a guitar
I'd sit on the fire escape
on late summer nights
Serenading the aching neighbors' ears
to sweet, simple jazz licks and
alleycat blues
And a room just for a desk -
Nothing else in my way
I'll write too much, all the day
And books all over
Rimbaud, Whitman, Artaud, Shakespeare
A million others too, of course
A nice front porch with a rocking chair
I'll climb up on the roof sometimes
Look down at all the people
Wait around looking for stars
Though there aren't many because
Earth is too bright now
Peaceful hermetic existence
Focused on living and breathing
No shallow work or pay
Do what I must, live my own way
Own nothing worth stealing
Occasionally just slip out the door
Head along the open road
Stop back home now and again
Feel free to leave my door wide open