rivers of traffic bustle under the bridge
in whirls of vertigo
high up, masked men work st. elmo’s fire,
curtains of sparks whip into
windy rooms between skyscrapers
women float through lobbies,
men pat bellies through revolving doors,
valets flick wrists, make cabs appear
back at the bridge, we watch men
at the wheels of trucks,
and listen to news from abroad
