On Some Nights (Fall 07)

There is nothing like taking a winter mile,
while the city sleeps,
dancing jigs down naked streets
with a pint of the Pogues for my ears.

It’s especially nice when the fog comes in to play
like the breath of God bringing the ancient folk with it;
a reminder of that timeless tradish’
of shared blood and magic.

Some nights, in the middle of 8th and Main,
I’m comfortable enough to lie down
on yellow paint
and stare at the stars for hours.

I wonder if there is anyone like me
staring back, surrounded on both sides
by darkness, avoiding the inability to dream,
eyes wide like road-kill.

Some nights, I’ll wear my kilt,
with my goatskin sporran dangling,
as I trot along my own parade,
with pipes droning for attention.

I imagine they’ll call me the Midnight Piper
after I wake them up with my bellowed face,
fingering my own version of Amazing Grace…
O’ how sweet the sound’
of more wretched hours yet to be found.


On most nights though…
I’ll just sit under a street lamp,
chasing thoughts like impossible moths,
praying to whichever God cares to listen…