City Boy
Sleep won’t come
surrounded by the country quiet
rasping against my closed eyelids.
The hush that comforts philosophers and poets
feels to me like drowning in a sea of silence.
Let me hear the predatory growl of buses,
a car radio turned up too loud
or the whine of a motorcycle
revving up to its redline.
These are the sounds of people
awake and adventurous.
feeling the onshore breeze rise and fall.
swirling it around in their mouths like old Scotch,
tasting the salt and smoke from the beach,
reassuring me that out there
beyond my window,
life is flowing through the streets.
paul A. Bluestein is a physician (done practicing), a blues guitar player (still practicing) and a dedicated Scrabble player (yes, ZAX is a word). He was born and raised in Philadelphia, but has also lived in the Midwest and southern California. He currently lives in Connecticut with his wife and the two dogs who rescued him. Nearby, there is a beach where he can let his mind off the leash to go where it wants. He is grateful that, thus far, it has always come back, sometimes with an interesting idea in its jaws.
