Never tell me
The night is young
As its wisdoms
Prove seniority
Lighting smokestacks
Much like cob pipes
Sticking out
From the mouth of sprawls

Lined with cities
Sharing dust
Breathing waste
And factory ashes
Over alleyways
Cast in shadows
Where these bandits
Stash their risks

Under awnings
Behind bars
Chasing cats whose tails
Curl backwards
Stalking vagrants
Fate encounters
Wishing streets
Were home at last

Having dreams
Upon that bench
Huddled still
Beneath old blankets
Watching figures
Break through storefronts
Grabbing hope
For paper bags

As this shift
Turns easy cash
Robbing graves
Some call fair living
Wasting daytime
Working harder
Since nocturnal beasts
Roam free

Knowing crime
Though often wrong
Defeats morning’s
Tampered sunshine
Playing odds
All jobs amount to
Missing masks
Or angry means.

• J. Pigno