One Poem by Susan Surette

Beneath City Streets

Hurried feet
scratch against granite stairs
from underground tunnels
into life’s swirl

Legions of shoes
smack the surface
while descending into warmer depths
jumbled conversations ease
burdened shoulders

Metal gates open
bodies push through
joining the masses
with a sense of urgency
on their destination
into the tide of humanity
competing with stale air

A sudden whoosh
of expectant air,
doors slide open
expelling bodies;
others shuffle forward
consolidating themselves
in space
unwilling to accommodate

Multitudes spread
along stained concrete
in low yellow light
past tacky billboards
grimy walls
tasteless decor


Susan Surette is an avid traveler, bibliophile, grandmother, hand drummer, yogi and poet with work published in The Avocet, Westward Quarterly, The Voices Project, Nine Muses Poetry and The Curlew. She recently founded the Not Yet Dead Poets Society in Cape Cod, Massachusetts.

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