Bowery

Fränz Müller

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!

  • Author: Fränz Müller (Offline Offline)
  • Published: July 4th, 2025 09:47
  • Comment from author about the poem: A poem about my experiences during the World Trade Center attacks and subsequent evacuation from lower Manhattan that day.
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 3
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Comments +

Comments1

  • sorenbarrett

    A tragic event with so many tragic consequences beyond the deaths there. Ignorance, incompetence, favoritism, inaction and haste. Wars, more deaths, misunderstandings, greed, religious beliefs blinded not only by smoke but all.



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