Blind Alley - Stephen O'Brien

Painting by Zachary Johnson, "Blind Alley"


Blind Alley

Grey steel towers, half illuminated,
protrude above, into the dark night sky.
Walking home soaked my boots, making them
squish and splurt water out on the hardwood
staircase. Eight flights up is faster to walk
than take the elevator.
My walk home
was through seas of steel and lumber buildings
with bright-eyed, black-and-yellow checkered fish
darting past, each and every passing street.

Dark grey clouds of roiling water above
covered me with a stormy, cold embrace.



Storefront maws covered their dark neon signs
with cages to trap their contents inside.
But the bright lights from the few open stores
lit the thoroughfare I traveled upon.
The bands of dark and light reflected back
to make the puddles create a mirage.


These many portals to the world beneath
showed an alien race in our same state-
Their buildings were jagged, tearing the sky.
and people were absent--lost?--from my view.

Down towards the center I could see light
from people and headlights and cameras
But that was not the way I was heading.
I was going towards a blind alley,
-though one I had walked many times before-
its darkness writhing with life and malice
reflected from the puddles--nothing there.

Wind scoured my looking-glass, leaving nothing
from that other world looking back at me.