Background traffic
rushes constant
indistinctly
witching hour holds
its secrets, close to the chest
as pocket aces
on a table, full
to the brim with suckers
night yellowed
sodium lights splash
upon pavement
parked cars of black,
or blue, perhaps green
thank god the police
aren’t asking for a description
soon the cliche will come
that it is darkest before dawn
despite that being
demonstrably untrue,
a diplomatic term for
bullshit.
Unspoken Politics 