The Concrete Jungle
"The city is not a concrete jungle, it is a human zoo."
~Desmond Morris
’Twas the warmest night of the summer
Damp, muggy, suffocating and miserable
The old ceiling fan droning; a flutter
Of gossamer wings; the heat unbearable
She lay beside him above the bedcovers
Their all but naked bodies like pretzels
Of twisted arms and legs, his and hers
Knees and elbows project in all angles
They heard a car honk and a siren wail
While young teens carouse in the corner
The city racket screams, beyond the pale
An assault on all senses, like no other
Their thoughts meandered to the country
A small cabin at the foot of a big hill
Beside a rustling brook and an oak tree
Peace and calm, not a roar nor a shrill
Roses, tulips, hydrangeas and daffodils
The bees and butterflies paying homage
Peaches, plums and apples in the hills
By the brook at the back of the cottage
Birds sing and the soft breeze whispers
They soothe the mind, refresh the soul
In the serene night the spirit lingers
And makes both their bodies whole...
In that moment in the heat of the night
The man and the woman resolved to depart
The concrete jungle and the city of light
In a cabin by a brook, make a fresh start!
07-16-2014
© Vic Evora
Written seven years ago when I lived in an apartment close to downtown.
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