Читать книгу The Interrogation - Michael Bazzett - Страница 12

At Night

after Simic

at night you might not sense

the old hatreds of the city

which could be anywhere

rain-swept pavement turns

to shining lakes of light

or cars hiss coldly through

brushstroked intersections

the people are stacked away

into vertical burrows filled

with pill bottles and screens

insomniacs lie awake and share

the blank stare of their many

separate ceilings and children

are taught to shoot the deadbolt

upon first returning home

and yet the city wakes each day

and puts on its face and nods

as if it is not a family gathered

around the scrape of cutlery

at a steaming evening meal

pretending grandma never

used scissors on the mailman

and that father did not slip

his hands into his niece’s

blouse just this afternoon