Whispers In the Wind

A heavy wind blows through
the city streets tonight, carrying
sounds and smells on its back.
Drunken laughter, confusing screams.
Is that woman in pain? She might be
having fun. Corn dogs and popcorn—
their scents linger far after the cart gone.

Sidewalks, empty.
The streets, in disrepair
from the winters being too cold
and the summers too crowded.
A man rides a bike between bar fronts
and white-striped orange barrels.
I refuse his offer for a ride out—
his collection of twisted metal,
rust, and duct tape—

but I give him my cigarettes,
a gratitude. A young woman, running
through a fog of light and sound, snatches up his gift
with open arms and a cry of joy, or pain.
Her eyes see everything but me, I watch
the pair dissolve into an alley. Curious,
what the wind brings if I stand
still and open.