Sirens (Poem)

All day and night, this city sings the urgent song
of the robbed, the wrecked,
the scorched, the trapped,
and the broken.

All day and night, the whales permeate miles of concrete and glass,
catalyst of their tone’s panicky projection —
their chorus, a constant reminder somebody somewhere out there
is hurting.

Even so, I fret and despair not at the blue and red flickering fanfare
accompanying the city siren’s frantic hymn.
For, when I hear them at night, while sipping Earl Grey on my balcony,
gratitude, instead, is invoked.
For, I’m grateful they’ve no reason to sing, yet, about me.

From the Soul,