city music

This is the poem I wrote this month for my writing group. I thought I'd share it here today to celebrate the beautifully warm weather Brooklyn's been privy to these last few days. The sunshine has somehow turned up the volume here in the city, and everything is noisy and alive. I'm loving it! I'm still not completely in love with the poem, however, but I suppose that's what first drafts are for.

City Music

The city has a song to sing,
and from my perch on the sill of
my fire escape window
I can hear the harmony
of the choir below.

It starts with the shuffling
of feet on sidewalks,
followed closely by
strollers and carts rolling
and bumping over concrete ridges.
On the corner, the voices of
two old men blend as they
converse in their foreign tongue.
Church bells peal, children laugh
as they walk in groups to school,
a dozen brooms swish storefront pavements.
Cars whir,
buses hiss,
and the engines of delivery trucks
sigh.

Suddenly a siren urgently wails
and, as if on cue, a car alarm
joins in the emergency.
An anxious driver honks at a
just-green light with vicious impatience.
Jackhammers violently chip away a square of road
while underground the train rumbles by,
shaking the avenue above.

The breeze picks up as it
tunnels down narrow streets;
all stop to listen.
From the peace that has developed
creeps a strain that both
is fitting
but does not fit:

the soprano of an
operatic aria,
wafting on the wind,
finds its way through my open window.
Over the hush below,
her voice
increases in
intensity.
The choir holds its breath
as the prima donna holds her final note.
And when the count is reached,
the unseen conductor
lowers his baton
and the musical voice of the city
again becomes
one.