Poem

September Night

Midnight sounds, distant rumbles
cars pass, spluttering
but an undertone of crickets
and peepers plays on.

A police car, lights
searing, blows through a
stop sign.
The elm doesn't notice.

It feels the press of the pavement
Patches of motor oil oozing down.
Yet it grows on
a shelter for the homeless sparrow

I find little solace
in the sound of
a V6 engine accelerating
from a dead stop.

But a single cricket chirps
within the leaves
of the elm
above my porch.