Poetry: Kingston Symphony, THE WEE HOURS

THE WEE HOURS

Its too early

even

for the street sweepers

the sound systems - even the

poshest - have had their

Noises

abates

Quixote's dogs

tilt garbage bins like

Windmills

Closed stores and sidewalk

nooks

welcome the street sleepers

On flattened carboard

discarded sheets

and cold

concrete

do cokeheads

and derelicts

make their

beds

Police patrols

roll languidly by

And old kung fu

movies

never die

the guttural shouts and

gravity-defying

kicks

enthrall three-card losers

and cash-rich

soup-sellers

Alike

From the cold comfort

of dimly lit

stalls

Intrepid shopkeepers

trade school-day memories

of plastic shoes

and

lunch

with no money

And all too

soon

the wounded night

bleeds purple

one

last

time

before the

Advance

of

the new sun