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The City is a Conch
by Anne Carly Abad

 

The city is a conch
I put it to my ear
and listened to the waves—
thundering bus horn
the clash and crash of metal
in awakening machines
the bestial squeal
of tires against asphalt
the rattle of the overworked train
as though it wishes it could

bask with me
in the warmthless rays
of red hazard lights,
ponder the hypnotic rhythm
green, orange, red
green, orange, red

When I close my eyes
I see more blue
the rare smog-free sky
under it, a friend
I haven’t seen in years
her face hazy
but our exchange still clear
a slew of promises
neither of us could keep

© Anne Carly Abad

 

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