So, I'm up. It's nearly two in the morning, and I have five more papers to grade because I spent the day missing appointments, being a terrible teacher, dozing on my sofa, eating chips and hummus and olives while reading gossip sites, and watching reruns of Making the Band 3. Ah, the life of a productive writer. Anyhow, this is for all my poets out there: a piece by a South African poet named Dennis Brutus. Just because. Excuse me if my taste is juvenile. I'm no poet, but I love poetry.
Nightsong: City
Sleep well, my love, sleep well:
the harbor lights glaze over restless docks,
police cars cockroach through the tunnel streets
from the shanties creaking iron-sheets
violence like a bug-infested rag is tossed
and fear is immanent as sound in the wind-swung bell;
the long day's anger pants from sand and rocks;
but for this breathing night at least,
my land, my love, sleep well.
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