There is a Light
There is a light
that's always shining
at the end of the street,
telling me to come closer
and look at it.
The dogs bark at me
as I take my blurred steps
down the uneven paved
street, waiting for a friend
to come set them loose.
They're just as bored as me,
waiting for a clumsy key
and a breath of fresh air,
which might be waiting for us both
on the other side of the fence.
The only difference is,
I could have a faint idea
of what that freedom tastes like,
they can only smell it
and all they know is
what they can smell.
The faint city lights on the top of the hill
glowing mild, phosphorescent,
an intentional burned photograph,
watching the moving ghosts
of cars on the tollway
buzzing past
in some rush to go to some
sort of meaningless clash,
weaving through the lanes,
they're waiting to be let go
as well.
Connor Stratman is a writer living in Chicago. He is currently attending college while
pursing a career in both poetry and fiction writing.
