by LAN 2D
The urban sprawl suffocates,
swirling through gaps in the ozone.
vehicle smoke fumigating lungs;
hearts paved under concrete strips;
plastic and molten gold
lined up in food stalls and supermarkets.
The City is apathetic,
deaf to gunfire, blind to tragedy.
It ignores conflict and continues its way,
raising apartment blocks and rent.
Housing the needy, or not.
It doesn’t work, but it does its job.
You travel by train for miles in silence;
weaving between a sea of traffic horns,
while I watch the road spit at the rain
and the night taxis speed past,
their passengers blips of white-grey
against dark trees and ghostlights.
Now it’s spring, and you’re gone.
That ice hotel around the corner melts in the heat,
a whirlpool of cool air settles,
and the ice cream trucks begin to migrate.
The fountain we met at is dry,
smells like fresh air washed away.
You said you’d never return,
but in the day you still live here,
between the car broker at 41
and the laundromat at 43,
between hollow floors
filled with plants and flower people.
Whoever named it hasn’t seen the sunset skyline,
or heard the birdsong of trains
rushing by in the morning,
kicking up tiny duststorms.
Or watched the clocks go back at 2am,
Giving me one more hour with you.
It’s clear to me,
among the jigsaw thread maze
of skyscrapers and
skyhigh apartment blocks;
The city isn’t uncaring,
It isn’t even really there.
