Roaring
Roaring, sneezing, sobbing.
Bars crowd beneath my window on Essex Street.
"Sexes," the brothers joke, or "extra sex."
The sex I can't count, but the drunks I know well.
Half an hour now. Still coughing.
A woman's voice. Clear, drunk.
Through pipes, half-century bricks, window corners,
It reaches me. Raw, powerful, unbroken emotions.
Breaking, continuing, breaking. Now broken.
Wait until footsteps and exhaust drown it out.
What is wrong with this world?
Why is no one sleeping?
Eleven-thirty roaring,
The street below is still shouting.
Cite as: Dai Pan, "Roaring," Three Worlds, Still Life, poem 04, 2025. https://daipan.ink/still-life/roaring