The August Baltimore Died

The Inner Harbor
Looked so gray
At the peak of that
Particular summer,

Covered by clouds
Nearly offset
With rays of sun
Peering through,

As I walked past crowds
Sharing tables
Along those fronts
Sporting awnings

Where couples would stop
For their dinners
Dodging such storms
Soon to hit.

It made me think
How my future
Was like those rains

When seeing thick fog
All around me
Build over time
Out of fear –

Worried how lonely
I’d grow
And continue this path
Near the ocean,

Watching small waves
Rattle vessels,
Disturbing big boats
Even docked.

My seaside walk
Had persisted
Well into days
Beyond winter,

Through springs
And autumns apparent
As life still waned
Like that glow

Amid long skies
Hiding woes
Where hopeful beams
Appeared brightest,

Scorching this ground
Getting hotter
And burning each dream
Left behind.

I was lost
Among costumed faces
And stuck between
Visitors laughing,

Truly happy
Besides their partners
I was certain
My God wouldn’t grant

To men like me
Always jealous
As the city itself
Felt ignited

While vacationing pairs
Took their pictures
And attended cons
Dressing up.

My tomorrow
Was laced in regret
Staring back
On empty hotel rooms,

Having nightmares
About strange phone calls
From muses
Who never picked up –

A clock turned dim
Over stoves
Hanging near screens
Quickly flashing

Amid silent suites
Begging questions
Asking answers
She couldn’t reply.

My wife stirs slow
During sleep
As I grab her hand
Just to kiss it,

Still recalling
Those years long before her
When her husband
Was homeless inside –

Suffering fate
Not responding
Across those streets
Once congested

Where his angels
Strolled angry boardwalks
Hearing prayers
Facing heatwaves endured

In museums
Once wandering shipwrecks
Pushing limits
Of imagined disasters,

Throughout memories
Become second nature
The August
Baltimore died.

  • J. Pigno

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