7 a.m.

7 a.m.
By Beth Cortez-Neavel
Cities abiotic
concrete-filtered sunlight hitting traffic jams through
sky scrapers’ grids
Barely a sidewalk without footprints left
in chewed- up
discarded
gum
Smells of tar and sewer steam
rise
to meet my
eyes
It is so material –
I can taste it;
Like my coffee with
Two sugars and
One cream,
in a Styrofoam cup,
as I step onto the T in the
Jarring
early morning.
I cover my face with
my hands.
I forgot to bring sunglasses.