Miles of Gray
A Saturday in BostonCold, rainy, lonely,
I walk the miles of gray.
Hands in pockets, cap backwards,
I fit in, not bothered.
Girls shouldn't walk by themselves
not alone, not in the city at night.
But there was no "themselves" only me.
Only me I'm used to.
Grim thoughts for company
because only me isn't how it should be
but was and threatens always to be.
Alone I saw
Dark shops, unpeopled and closed.
The fountain hating wind as much as me.
Distant lights too far to seek out.
Homeless in doorways, waiting for cardboard sheets.
Did they see me?
The endless rain cried more tears than I ever have.
I wish getting on the bus and leaving Boston
would banish the miles of gray,
but they're in my head.
And always have been.
-srw
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