Glimmer By John Drudge

The streets yawn and spit

Exhaling the bitter breath 

Of gasoline and regret

Cracks spilling shadows 

That stretch thin 

Beneath the dim hum 

Of neon

Broken bottles 

Glint like jagged stars

Constellations 

Of forgotten nights 

Kerouac’s highways 

Turned into alleys 

Too tired to dream

Broken promises

Mingling 

With the slow drag 

Of shoes 

The air the taste 

Of rust and damp

The sky a bruise 

Of indifference

But even in decay 

The city holds a pulse

Faint but defiant

Beating for those 

Who still stumble 

Through its shadowed veins 

Seeking something more

In the grit

Toward a single streetlight

Barely more than a glimmer

John is a social worker working in the field of disability management and holds degrees in social work, rehabilitation services, and psychology.  He is the author of four books of poetry: “March” (2019), “The Seasons of Us” (2019), New Days (2020), and Fragments (2021). His work has appeared widely in numerous literary journals, magazines, and anthologies internationally. John is also a Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominee and lives in Caledon Ontario, Canada with his wife and two children.