Neon on the Outskirts at the Break of Dawn

by Allan Safarik

Washed out neon in the morning sun like a fish out of water
A swift silence follows the odd vehicle travelling through town
there are no people on the sidewalks as the crows fly up
from the main intersection when the light changes to green
they know they have enough time to get out of the way
They flutter back on the pavement behind the back window
as if to claim the emptiness that will soon by filled by traffic
going to work or moving down the highway to the next place
taking the black spaces with them from under the motel beds
There is no reason to leave them behind without a reason
Water from their morning showers trickles into the ground

A smoking cigarette butt left behind in an asphalt parking lot
last memory like a gob of spit left on a motel bathroom mirror
Don’t ask me why certain people want to be remembered
or why those intelligent birds want to play in that intersection
Soon enough it’s all a minor memory of washed out colour
that ruled the night in magic illustrations of neon splendour
Even the bristling prairie stars were put in the background
by the pulse of electronic graffiti owning complete darkness
Life in meaning only partially told before it answers back
laughing bravely at the stranger elements of blind faith
Who’ll be there tomorrow or the next day waiting for me