[p o e t r y]

A New York Poet

To be a New York poet
At 2:37am
Is an odd state of affairs
Because
The city is almost silent

I say almost silent
Because New York
Is never truly silent
There is always a buzz
From the lightpost outside my window
Always a distant shout
Sometimes even a gunshot
Sometimes
On very dark evenings
One can almost hear the city snore
One can almost hear
The smog thickening
Yes, almost
New York is almost quiet
At 2:37am

It's 2:37am
The loudest sound I hear tonight
Is how the icy water splashes
As it cascades over my sore knuckles
My cramped fingers
The water flows
And as it does
It washes away the ink splatters
Upon my fingertips
The remnants of my work,
smudged across
My aching fingers
Wash away before
I return to my notebook
Ready to write yet another poem

And so I settle down again
Enveloped by my raft of blankets
Adrift among the stars
Hidden by smog and woes
So I pick up my pen once more
So that I may write,
Write away the night
And thus I begin-

"To be a New York poet
At 2:37am"