Light Pollution

By: Eric Lawson

Unforgiving sidewalk, my bed.
Jansport backpack, my pillow.
Frosted grass blades poke at me.
Breathing has become a burden.

I just want a restful sleep.
Somehow.
Somewhere.
Without interruption
or homeless chicanery
or my never-ending shame,
feeling like a bench press
with more and more weight
crushing fragile metaphors.

I sought out the dark recesses.
But there are restless people,
cars with loud muffles, low-
flying planes, joggers blasting
their motivational playlists,
and untold number of blinking
and bright omnipresent lights,
pushing and pulling against
my weary overworked eyes.

As the sun easily chases away
all daytime lingering shadows,
is there not something similar
to be done with perpetual night?
Can’t I exclude fluorescent strain
from polluting my ideal Zen zone?

Sleep mercifully overtakes me.
But only because exhaustion wins.
Wide open space dreams elude me.
And the lights still remain steadfast


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