I stroll the sidewalk, cautious care
Eyeing shapes I dare not meet
Run my hands through sweat-slicked hair
The air alive with smold’ring meat
And who-knows-what, and sewer mist
That rises round my tattered boots
My city sans civilite
My culture torn up by the roots
A breeze comes through, with ash alight
The specks, they dot my moistened eyes
The tower torches pierce the night
Silent beacons, blood-red skies.
I slip inside my darkened door
And let it out, the relieved sigh
I fall asleep in silent wonder:
Another day I did not die!