POEM: Dark Shantytown

walking in the street
after the sun has set

No streetlights
No porch lights
No headlamps
No torch lights
No box-lit sign for the butcher
No neon sign for the barber
just the dim hypnotic flicker of screens

like swimming a benighted sea
knowing other life teems unseen
sometimes a face drifts into view
and you pivot to avoid collision
or maybe just drift vaguely past

one word rattles in you brain:


Are there sharks?
Where are the sharks?
Will I see the shark,
before I feel the shark?

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