This City Is Made For Us

          Out           in            North            Gower
          rural       tension       rearranges    my    guts.
          The    stark     trees'     skeletal       fingers
          point         at       a       pointless       sky, 
          a                  colourless                 void
          at      the      very      edge   of somethingness, 
          where    the    world's  cracked  and   fermenting.
          I                 rebreathe       the    urban air 
          recirculating         in       my           accord,
          and    to   stave   off  the  relentless stagnancy,
                           I blast hip hop 
          that scrapes for purchase in this empty wilderness. 
          But      the       stench         of         drear,
          dung,           indifference,         of     mulch,
          seeks            out             my         psyche
          to                     poison                   it. 
          I      look     at    the     houses   and   barns
          filled                with                  bibles 
          and       knitted      "home      sweet      homes" 
          and         tasteless         country     stylings,
          and         think        ungenerous       thoughts 
          of         the        kind         of       people 
          who        can       live   in     Artforsakenland.
                                     Racing back into Ottawa 
                                    I inhale this city, 
                                   eye the skyscraping,
                                  and it fills my head
                                 with urban majesty.
                                Car grills grin back at me.
                               Sidewalks and streetlights
                             welcome me home, 
                            their designs
                           made just for us.
                          I open the window
                         to rinse my air.
                        My skin tingles 
                       like the lights inside buildings
                      makes them real against a cool night sky.
                     The rap now resonates 
                    with the rhythms 
                  of pedestrian footsteps,
                of flashing ambulance lights,
              of tipsy undergrad laughter
        and my pulsing, glowing, halo
of giddy thankfulness.

© Jim Davies