Poem for "The Pedestrian"

"Ponders"

The lone wanderer, as his soles touch

Asphalt and his shadows brush stray ferns,

Ponders,

Steps,

Ponders...

In his thoughts-- the only light left that

Kindles these streets--

Clocks turn back and see

The hazy sun re-rising from its set,

Times when the highways, those

Rivers stolidly grey pounded into land,

Are abuzz and ever-shifting

As highways ought to be;

And what now that it is dark?

Those of the past

Spoke wonders of the moon--

The same moon the people have now

Abandoned for beams of

Apathetic light.

Trucks, walkers, shoes:

All locked in for the nightly hours.

Yet who is it really that is locked in,

The shoes or the people so diminished in their

Musings and talents by the

Flickers of a screen?