Night Hawks

After the incessant tapping

of weary feet on the hardened pavement

has died down,

after the hum of car engines

has been put away,

in a nook hidden from the eyes

of the sun there is a small cage

where the night hawks are placed.

Three figures sit within,

three figures, disjointed, a couple not speaking,

and a stranger who has no one to talk to tonight.

The neon lights of the yet nascent city

stream through the glass panes

of the cage, casting an eerie glow

upon the desolate concrete ground beyond:

the man standing behind the counter

looks upon the ground outside

unable to leave the box till the night hawks

choose to do so.

The empty barstools sit haughtily

as though challenging someone to sit on them –

they must play these games

to keep from going insane.

They must play these games

though they know there will be none who comes in now.

These incessant games are the only way

to spend interminable time

in the city of neon lights.