The Sidewalks Are Hot.

A little poem I just came up with. Nothing special.

The sidewalks are hot,
Trapping the day’s sunlight within.
The strip is empty as I get out of the taxi.
“Keep the change.”
I tell the cabbie as I hand him a bill.
I’m not sure what it is.
I may’ve just been the biggest tipper ever,
Or he just got cheated out of a fair fare.
Either way, he’s not complaining
As he drives into the night.

Slap, slap, slap,
My shoes against the pavement
Are the only sound in the night.
All of the shops are closed until sunrise.
Up ahead, distant at first,
Comes the sound
Of someone tickling the ivory in a bar,
Warming up a piano for a performance.
I consider going inside,
But the darkness of the night seduces me.
I walk on.

Reviews

[Mockingbird]

i like this poem. it's a mystery because you don't know what the person is thinking or where they prefer to be. excellent piece.