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Nine O' Clock

Everywhere I walk,
the night smells of marijuana & mown
grass. Through glass, people
& their families
nestle round the blue
light of television.
I am smelling a rose
made burgundy by the darkening
sky while my dog pisses
on a row of irises. I say hello
to a small face peeking
round the corner of someone’s house:
a cat in my mind
until it stands upright
& shuffles away, ringed
tail dragging the dirt. That
chandelier glinting from the ceiling
of a dining room is worth more
than everything I own
combined. Ugly as fuck
chandelier, gold & crystal—
why don’t we get more
imaginative? I lock eyes
with a woman
lowering her blinds:
acquiesce to the familiar desire
to not be seen—shift
my looking to the other side
of the street. 

This poem was published by Cosmonaut’s Avenue.