Here, On the Outskirts

New poem of the week. I wish I could be like those bloggers who have a poem of the week. But alas, you, ACorkAndABottle, have no structure. Screw it, I'm done free-writing. Here is, again, my poem of the week.


Here, On the Outskirts


Lightning flashes
silently white
on the horizon over the city.
It has already rained here, on the outskirts.
Alley street lamps blur.
Pavements glisten from slick oil,
and there is not a sound within earshot.
Silence, so it seems--
a suspicious companion.

Any second now someone will shout in the distance.
Slowly, it will begin again.