Poetry: The Lighted Window
Bundled away in rooms, sometimes joking,
Sometimes timid, but suppressed and tidy
Always, lies our disrespectful future.
It looks out between the cracks of shuttered
Windows as, ignorant and cold, we walk
The irregular streets between welcome,
Nondescript, even terrible buildings,
Searching through dirty drains and gutters
For a brilliant coin or so many pretty faces.
Then one night, by chance, we look up
Towards a still lighted window and catch
A glimpse of an ugly, ridiculous face
Carelessly staring back at us
With forgetful eyes, clutching a tangled map.