Annapolis, Streets Always Crowded


Church Circle,

This town’s marquee

Ringing bells of 300 hundred years

Opens a curtain,

Two shows a night

Coming and going

Ghosts get in free.


Going at midnight

Aging in my walking

Limping red brick to red brick

Toward the Circle’s womb.

An audience of ghosts arrive

Wind flirting with leaves

Shuffling to their seats

Guided by prisms of footlights

Caused by wet streets.


One line of poetry

To this audience of the night

Satisfies them as I take flight

Hearing their applauding rain

And breathing wind.

Exiting into Rams Head’s alley

Avoiding autograph dwellers

Seeking spare change and cigarettes.


Looking back toward West Street,

Noticing a cute brunette

Limping toward the Circle


What the ghosts’ demand of her.




Categories: Life, Observations, People, Places, Poetry

Tags: , , , , , , ,

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