Broome Street

The streetlight aspires to a small role on Broadway,
And the traffic cop fancies that he was born king.
The pigeons peck pennies and wish at the fountain,
To trade their anxieties for songs they can sing.
The taxi cab wishes that he was a tugboat,
The dockbuilder whistles and dreams he’s a bird.
While only the poet—and just for one moment—
Sits silent and content, alone in all the world.

January 21, 2019

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