Blossoms / The City by James Aitchison

Blossoms

Wind-sprinkled

over my path,

a morning carpet

scenting my day.

From the palette of

the night, softly greeting

my steps, while I —

I, in those same hours

of darkness —

did only sleep. 

          

The City

We wear them down,

our cities.

Shrines to sweat

become neglected, exhausted,

houses gutted of hope,

where factories make 

only defeat.

Downtown, uptown,

two parts of the same

toxic wilderness.

Shops boarded, 

a hollowed-out cinema,

apartment houses with

blind windows that can't see

mini-markets, garish motels, 

and more parking lots than cars.

Still the stubborn urban beast

strives to survive.

And people will say,

"but it has character."

James Aitchison is an Australian author and poet whose work has appeared in the Australian Poetry Anthology, Quadrant, Aesthetica (UK), and Black Poppy Review.