--- J E F F R E Y   E T H A N   L E E

Three shots amplify
the concrete gutters of the night sky—
lights blink on—then off.


Then the stiff silences between
the first and last shots—
checking which windows lit?...


Wind rings through metallic leaves—
plastic bags tumble
past park benches crackling.


Then sirens, braking—
skid-stopping, then doors slam—
at last, a radio beeps-blurts.


Underground machinery
grinds the deep continuo
of subways roaring.


The addictive rhythms of
Rap boom thrumming from a box— 
a kid watching the cops.