Midnight drops, champaign bubbles pop, New York City begins to roar

Franctic notes, scribbled in hope, as the ball slides to the floor

Plastic rains down the drains, same thing year after year

Bodies jump, speaker thump, a ringing in the ear

Yet, under the blacktop, past the last bus stop, there’s

nothing

of note: one soleless Vans covered in sand next to a discarded sock,

three bullet cases, scattered in places, people have forgot 

what its like to flee for your life 

all while the clocks slowly

stop.