Outro, Prelude

Here,                         riding in a taxi on the Manhattan Bridge
late                            at night in a pit-pat drizzle,
everything                looks puffy from the back seat window,
everything                looks distant —
                       and     it is, of course,
                                  of course it is —
                       and     I watch the glow from those
distant,                     yes, from those distant windows
as                              it fills the drops that dot the
glass                         and I see no trace,
no                             trace of life,
just                           a cold and jaundiced

But                             I wonder
if                                I’m wrong. If behind the
glow                          of the high rise rooms
someone                   lives,
                       and     looks,
                       and     waits,
                       and     looks at me,
                       and     sees no life, no light,
even,                         but here,
only                           a faceless taxi
sliding                       by the side-rail –
moving                      faster and blanker now
towards                     the looming Brooklyn line, my thoughts
turn                           away again to my waiting bed and
the lights,       yes,    the lights all turn to
ghosts                       along the way.

January 4, 2023

Jake Romm

Jake Romm’s writing and photography have appeared in Aesthetica Magazine [Creative Writing Prize Shortlist (Poetry)], The Brooklyn Rail, Hyperallergic, Protean Magazine, MAP6, and elsewhere. He can be found on twitter at @jake_romm.

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