Beautiful NightWho wants to make somebody cry, to see a face lose its structure and collapse, in night under clouds lit yellow by streetlamps and buildings, or in day under the relentless gaze of fluorescent lights. Yesterday was Tuesday, and today is Wednesday. Underneath our feet there are new fuses that web in every direction, from church hall to soup kitchen. Consider the power of the Constitution. The lyric, the tilted script. Unity among the disparate masses. We could have been a nation of poets, but instead we're a nation of clerks. Over our country, an impossible map to follow to figure out where the next problem will burst. Please forgive me while I let it out, while I break into a small fit of tears. I am not weak, I try. When I die, everybody in my world will die, everything will be destroyed. You, the same. The exterior of the building is a marvel of curved glass, colorful metals that provide support and race gloriously up the structure to veer off at the top in sharp angles. At night, spotlights mounted on it cross each other, form structures of light against the sky. Tourists take pictures of it. Residents look at it strong against their skyline and feel swells of pride. But inside, offices, water coolers, the general paraphernalia of suffering and work. Lights and webs. Help me, we cannot win. A little bit of night music. A little bit of spin. Glenn Shaheen is the author of the poetry collection Predatory (University of Pittsburgh Press, 2011), and the flash collection Unchecked Savagery (Ricochet Editions, 2013). His work has appeared in The Cincinnati Review, Ploughshares, The New Republic, and elsewhere. |