Bob McAfee
At Three A.M.
In a deserted alley on Franklin Street
the garbage cans play the opening bars
of the Hallelujah Chorus;
After a moment, a tom cat emerges
protesting his innocence.
At the corner of Elm Street and Third,
the all-night pharmacy’s blue light shines;
inside, the druggist catnaps
keeping a hand on the .38 special
hidden below the counter.
Inside St. Elizabeth’s Hospital,
the backlog has finally dwindled,
not an ambulance in sight;
the exhausted resident sneaks into a back room
to catch some zees.
Just off Main Street the cop has parked his squad car,
turns off his lights to become a smaller target,
his radio broadcasting only static;
he opens his thermos,
slowly empties the contents.
The third shift goes on lunch break
down at the UPS packing center,
unshaven men wondering
why they are eating lunch
at three a.m.
Jack and his Jill stagger from O’Malley’s Bar
heading for the Midtown Hotel
each, perhaps, fearing what the other
will look like in the morning but,
in any event, they’ll have a chance to sleep it off.
_______________
Bob McAfee is a retired software consultant who lives with his wife near Boston.
He has written nine books of poetry, mostly on Love, Aging, and the Natural World.
For the last several years he has hosted a Wednesday night Zoom poetry workshop.
Since 2019, he has had 172 poems selected by 70 different publications. Two poems
Nominated for Best of the Net. His website, www.bobmcafee.com, contains links
to all his published poetry.
Author’s Backstory/Crafting Elements: Several years ago, I house sat a friend’s apartment in Brighton, Mass. During the night I often heard the clanging of garbage cans along with voices in which I imagined drug deals going down or romantic hookups occurring. One night as I heard the alley clatter, I woke up at three A.M., imagination running wild, and wrote this poem.
Editor’s Comments/Image Credit: A pre-dark image of narrow urban alley lined with trash dumpsters captures the mood in the poem (Photo credit by Daniel Maraventano/Unsplash).