Monday/Tuesday East Village: And It Went On...

These sliding glass doors I look upon
this midnight on the top floor, lights all off
(computer screen glow), I might as well be
on the rooftop, except the wind is not present
and outside is less still than it seems here. There’re

bars on the doors, to keep the nextdoors
whose rooftops are conjoined out
and safe at seeming distance, like as far away as
the orange-red glow on that tip of that tower
two miles away in this dark deep sleep City.

I remember at noon today, could hear the whistle
from the basketball game constantly chirping, and I
once climbed to the next building, walked to the edge
close as I could the wall of next building,
where situated that Boys’ Club gymnasium

its own window, 30 feet above nice hardwood with bars
as I peeked in on the empty courts from above.
Then later today, hilarious!, the door that won’t shut
for death, heavy, metal, and knife stubborn, I heard a man
while I sat right here, pound up the stairs tired of the noise attempt

with rages of door slams, to silence the whirring alarm of
“EMERGENCY EXIT ONLY”. Dysfunctional.
SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! Silence. Contented footsteps came down—

whir-whir-whirrr-WHIRRR-WHIRRR—footsteps pounding back up
SLAM! SLAM SLAM! SLAM SLAM! SLAM!! Silence. Next time around,
I knew it was the sound of a hammer he had retreated home to collect,
deathly irritated. CLANK! CLANK PINK PINK PINK CLANK CLANK!
Silence, ahhh silence. Footsteps down, and what do you know.