The Street Cleaner’s Arrival

Each day for a few lost hours
hundreds leave home for their cars,
obeying signs that proclaim
the street cleaner’s arrival,
though he never seems to come.
Some sit idle to wait for the ticketer,
speeding away at first sight.
Others trawl the streets for hours,
abandoning hope at the moment
their next spot appears.
But on days when time slips away,
when poor souls look
at the clock and remember,
knowing the ticket waits tucked
at the base of the windshield,
no one remembers the Friday
last month, when the sun
made the city so lovely
it seemed almost fine
just to drift through, pretending
for once to be lost,
to be searching for nothing at all.
The first thought is always the cost.
Then comes the trek outside
through the glare of the sun,
which seems almost gleefully
bright as it shines out front
on ten empty spots,
as open and knowing as laughter.

THOMAS HIGGINS

Thomas Higgins is a poet living in New York. Some of his work has appeared or is forthcoming in the minnesota review, Gravitas, Sheila-Na Gig Online, and What Rough Beast’s Coronavirus Edition.