The spider plant and Christmas cactus
don’t quite rejoice yet there’s an awakening
at the windows and walls from the rustle
of the garbage truck and overheard phone calls.
We who are left in the city don’t care
for the sea or shore at this time of day,
just let us play in the stray ups and downs
because someone has to be around to keep
the sweaty city surviving the news.
We’ve got nothing to lose except our losses
which subtract from the sum of voices,
faces, sirens and that glum cat on his sill
asking a question all cats ask which no one’s
answered yet except to say it’s another day.