i wonder if south street ever sleeps,
or if the wawa glows eternally,
fountain drinks and day-olds overflowing
in perpetuity.

will i always be
homesick
for worse places,
people i jealously
/
indignantly
left behind?

when the shadows glow
electric blue
under orange street lights, warm
A. begins to weep
and i think,
have i made some mistake?
recallibration
still a miscalculation