Like red ribbons flying through the air
First one and then another and another
The sound is fast and urgent
Time is at stake
Life could be lost
I don’t know a thing about it.
But the scream and the pitch, belong to me
I never see the hulking beast that rides in from the east
At 3 am in the morning
To be fed upon my garbage
It slowly lurches and groans down the street for more
But the bang and the rattle belong to me
The engines race to get some place
I know neither the face, nor the destinations
I only know the whirl of their speed belongs to me.
The tick of my clock
The chirping of the birds
The occasional clack of the furnace
They all belong to me.
They rise and fall until they are nothing at all.
I fall back into sleep.
Linda Morgan Smith, USA
The Social Poet 