One more piece "written" by the hero of my sci-fi series, Quasar 169...

Gotham

Early, before dawn,
a thrum of distant traffic
The concrete beast stirring awake
Stomach rumbles, now the scent of coffee
I can smell bacon, saffron,
last night’s fried hake

People start—I can hear someone shouting
There’s a siren echo lost
in the grey stone wood
Baby crying—I would, too,
if someone came to succor me
every time I had some small complaint

Look up—but realize
it all seems so futile
What have I got
someone else would want to own?
I am rich in lonely memories
I’ll put a sign up—Steal these!
Take them home!

Work has become a bitter hassle
I argue for some peace of mind
No one listens, they don’t care
‘cause they pay me
a pittance to keep
that lonely apartment lit

At work a flirt—I want to know her
but she’s busy with some other guy
He senses me a rival and smiles at me
just salt in a very raw and open wound

Time to go—where will I find my dinner?
Pick up my coat,
buy some cheap brand of aftershave
Chinese again, oh boy,
go run and find my chopsticks
I’m so good with them,
but there’s nobody to care

Almost afraid to go to sleep now
What if I miss
the day’s only exciting thing?
Then I realize
only my dreams hold any promise
and I fall asleep as
the city’s thrum breath dies slowly