My windows open
And the sounds of the city drift in
The passing cars carry people
To destinations they only know
The ambling bus arrives at its appointed time
Must cross now, it won’t stop for you, running
The urgent ambulence
Hurries to get the elderly, living alone
The crying baby
Who just wants to be held, ignored
The scooters, mopeds and bikes
Their tracks a conflation
Of one-men armies of determination
There is no cessation
Of the noise of the night
But the lovers fight
Accusations unfounded
Trade stares and glares
Under a city lamp light
The party across the street
Wine-filled voices carry across the rue
To my open windows
Sleep
Is most certainly screwed
Somewhere in Between 