The bad part of town is
a home for some. The cab
comes in morning to take one
back to the airport, however
the night was.
The glut of empty streets
and darkness in that place
comes, as the sunrise does
or doesn't but sends a text
message apologizing;
the lake house is too nice.
The silence a solace from
the city is white rice steaming,
fork-fluffed and waiting on
the side of a curry.
The squawk's nice, this walk
ice.
