Eastward at 8

I didn’t note, returning home, a sight
inspiring me to aim and click my phone,
until I exited the train last night
and followed this appearance. I had grown
accustomed to street oddities all right,
but this was an array I’d never known.
It raised the questions why and how acquired,
and woke a witness who’d been drifting tired.

This entry was posted in Poetry, Transit and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a comment