Midtown
By Rich Luftig
The autumn sun volleys
off concrete and chrome
make knives of the light
as people below move
like bottles on a conveyor belt.
Between the buildings,
swallows swoop and swerve
in tight daredevil
formations like fighter jets
before shooting in an updraft
and disappearing from the last
slice left of open sky.
I stand on the street watching.
The clocks of the savings banks
on each corner all give different times.
No matter. Each of them is there
to tell me it is too late
for me to be going anywhere.
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