All Across the City

I hear the early morning traffic lights with their red, yellow, and green laughter.

I hear the wet smack of fish kisses in the billion-passioned sea.

In the burbling of babies and brewing of coffee, I hear new life.

Orange trees sing juicy Motown covers as alley cats and yard dogs discuss possible peace talks.

Hardly watered gardens hymn dry yellow melodies of thirst.

Desert flowers tell the wind’s fortune as coyotes howl a gallows prayer.

In bedrooms all across the city, I hear lovers’ bodies rub up against one another, strumming the strings of bliss.

I hear the mattresses of miserable landlords groan from the excess weight of it all.

That, and the faint sound of alarm clocks clearing their throats before their maniacal morning song.