The sun
Cracks a weak smile
On waking streets
As units
Of nocturnal wandering no-gooders
Are usurped by the light
And by
A displacing legion
Of cleaners,
Followed by hospitality workers
And traffic berserkers
And by Mom-n-Pop
Street vendors
The moon is
A pretender
And doesn’t make its own shine
Reflected in geometric
Glass and Steel
Refined
While on tatty
And worn
Pressed board
That is torn and
With edges frayed
Simple goods
Are out-laid
And simple folk pray
Hoping today
Is the day
They experience
A life-changing rush
On their stall
Pinned as they are
With their financial
Backs to a wall
While their simple hearts
Are stuffed
Full of simple loves
And simple hopes
In a dying economy
Tightening like a
Noose on a rope
Their parental love
Is so much more
Than a simple trope
In this world of instant memes
And extreme
Performative routines
And under the brightening skies
Of this new day
Wherein the simple stars
Don’t offer the way
Anymore
