Boston Has A Bedtime

The storefront faces wrinkle

Till they part a gaping yawn

Eyelid-doorways shut up

And leave only the twinkles

Of the mind, the switches of thought

To be cast down

At which point no admittance is permitted.

No annoyance, nor disturbance,

Or even change jingling

Can pry the portals open for further transaction

The clatter of china dishes

From diners, brasseries and bistros

Makes a chinking like a music box:

An enchantment

Composed nightly

Enhancing the desire to dream,

The aspiration to sleep-

To follow the fingernail moon wherever it glows,

Even to cradle in the scoop of its bow

And balance on the end of its cape with your feet

The city lights encircle street occupants

They streak like a whitewash smirch

On an ebon-even sky

And play ring around the rosy

Till the tenants come tumbling down

They are as fool’s gold against the genuine.

What is a streetlight to a star?

The twinkles make a frenzy

And dizzy city-dwellers into a drowsy, comfortable

Tranquility

The owls–

The dream-seam rippers and the

Page-turners,

They are the disobedient ones!

They blink at the sun like a mismatched stocking,

And ignore the night like a gutter dime

They pull out the feathers and pellets-

Tear out the stuffings of time

And rattle the corridors like they rattle their minds

Boston has a bedtime

Photo by Teresa Hunt Ricci / Get Noticed Music Photography

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