there is an uncertain comfort in looking out the window
at 01.11am on a Saturday night.
with the radiator on your thighs melting the frostbite
from the snow that has been falling for three straight days in an
'uncommon bout of emergency weather conditions.'
a stillness
comes over the slush-covered dumpsters
and the soggy hedge
and the deserted buildings so close together that they almost hold hands
but don't.
a light startles itself on in the dead dark of the chessboard windows
the silhouette of a boy in a white tee-shirt moving around with the profound stiltedness of someone who has had one too many
what does he want to forget?
a lonesome girl in a blue hat walks with chilly purpose and an air of alarm
(that same air of alarm that all women have, alone in a world that has made them distrust each glance, each cough, each footstep too close behind them)
why is she walking alone?
an ant-farm full of young people
awake,
asleep,
hopeful,
sad,
broken-hearted,
full of life,
too aware of their pasts,
too obsessed with their futures,
i wonder who is looking out their window
at 01.11am on this Saturday night
looking back at me.
