The Perch
It is cold but not too cold
Winter has come but withdrawn its bite
Saving but a few gusts that shiver the core
Here on my perch I have watched many a New York night
But none so reflective as tonight
My pot boils with cheap soup and the lid rattles
The warmth from within calls me inside
But sitting here on my perch wrapped in the city has me stuck
Stuck looking within
I can not speak for those I see
Only what I feel as they pass through my lens
Four floors up is far from bottom
But miles from the unchallenged skies above
Where clouds flow freely even in the dark
So far I want to go
Hands in pockets, dark shadows roam below
No aim no purpose, some stutter some stumble
Yells and sirens score the murky surface
But who am I to look down upon them, lips wet with drink
Torn between the dark and the light
Wrought iron bars obstruct but still I can see
More hopeful lives exist across from me
Some dance on keyboards and others fuck
Some argue, some sleep and some singles try their luck
Through those warm windows I see
A twinkle, a spark, holy shit a Christmas tree!
My ice cubes clink summoning dark and light
Which way I turn seems uncertain right now
One sip to lose one sip to gain
On the fence is not a place I wish to remain
I look up to the rooftops to the unchallenged skies and beyond
This is where my mind, my body belongs.
Tired now.
Will this city let me sleep?
No more does my glass behold. No clink, no drink, no fortunes told
Back into the warmth I retreat, still wondering.
Comfortable, home, messy
Curtains drawn I lay with eyes looking towards rooftops, blinded.
[Read “Revisiting St. Nicholas“]
Andrew is a nomad and freelance photographer. He has lived in several different countries. Besides traveling for corporate and commercial clients, his passions include playing soccer, surfing, snowboarding, and anything that takes place in Hawaii.
His love for poetry has laid dormant since university but has been rekindled since joining a poetry club. He lives in New York City.
