passers-by,
out of your many faces
flash memories to me
now at the day end
away from the side walks
where your shoes traveled
and your voices rose and bent
to form the city’s afternoon roar
hindering an old silence.
passers-by,
i remember lean ones among you,
throats in the clutch of a hope,
lips written over with strivings,
mouths that kiss only for love,
records of great wishes slept with
held long
and prayed and toiled for:
yes,
written on
your mouths
and your throats
i read them
when you passed by.
tell me sandburg, what these booths have seen
davey hawkins
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