So Times

Poem By James Mills

These streets.
These streets, are wet,
stern with the gloss of grey cement.

Mean to say.
The sly grace of those
who walk them
with unconsidered pace
and talk them -
glittering in the askance light
and brimming dark.

In their sad hoorahs
in sad bars
they are
still
somebody.
For somebody is everyone
in these glowing streets,
these mean-time streets.

Hello and cheerio.

And, someday -
someday
please say
these streets are
ours.

Ours for the while,
me and you.

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