Summer, Much Past Midnight
Alone, I walk the
residential streets
through a summer night, now dark and cool.
If others are awake they make no sound
to break the silence of my nightly round.
Inside, lamps illuminate
living rooms of tan and beige,
victorian maidens of the upper class,
acceptable and charming, not seductive.
Bold colors engage my
decorator's eye;
these schemes I file for later use.
Then, I resume my interrupted
train of late-night thoughts
of building plans and
recipes
and firefights and culture wars,
theories of the forces driving social change
and dinner party plans.
Injustices received,
observed, and read
butt in my line of memories
from this day most others have put to bed.
Children overseas were hatcheted
Because of their parents' race,
Friends by their most special ones
Have been denied in a public place,
And dirty dishes fill my household sink.
Pet peeves rubbed raw
And international events
are catalogued and contemplated
To fuel my righteous outrage.
Inside the blocks of houses slowly passed
My neighbors take their rest.
What spirit gives them ease
While I pace by awake
In walking shoes?
--Joe Chambers
12 September 2006
