It's nine thirty five in the morning
And queensway is vacant
Ghost town streets
Not a single soul
Which is strange
For a street that's known never to sleep
Maybe it's tired
After all these years of nagging
And needed a day to recuperate and recover
It's tired of week long benders
And nightly coke fests
And walking all night in high heels and crusty makeup
It's tired of boozing in the middle of the crosswalk
Passing out on a bus stop bench
And being shaken awake and told to move
By overpaid cops
It's tired of the constant noise
The exhaust fumes of the city
And the repetition of stupid people
Calling them names for simply existing
After all
It deserves to sleep in from time to time
Relax
Take it easy
The uniforms and the suits will be down queensway's throat soon
No doubt
They always come back
YOU ARE READING
Poetry Book 4
Poetryhello again! another poetry book - number four, to be exact. if you've been here a while, you know the drill: there's no order to this thing, and after 100 poems or writing pieces, there's gonna be a new book. about the cover: it was a Thursday at S...
