The Town At Night
Between two traffic lights, the town opens itself
like a parchment
full of erasures, the barber’s red and blue spindle
in neon, deep mauve,
The Old Mill for afternoon gossip and the Café Ole
in the snug alcove.
Midnight’s languid light spills on the asphalt
and the darkened lake
lies still, its igneous folds crested with streaks
of sinuous fire.
Morning over the hills wipes the road for fresh tire marks;
the town folds back
into the placental curl with a single entrance and exit,
into a cylinder of emptiness.
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Comments about this poem (The Town At Night by Jay Kasturi )
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