Corner of Cadiz and Menendez

From my hotel balcony
I watch the sun
slowly peak up
over a soft pink morning
under the stale haze
of a head splitting hangover
The fishermen already
wading across
crystalline waters
that softly crash
tiny deaths
across the bay
In the distance car
after car head across
sea battered bridges
to crowded beaches
somewhere someone laughs
On the sidewalk below
tourists already beat down
sidewalks in search of
neon storefronts to drop
more cash than I
see in a week
sounds of people
birds, boats, and passing cars
blend together and form
a new kind of silence
a new day arrives
hustling and bustling
and all I wonder is
Do they even notice
the sunrise

Wayne Mason is a writer and factory worker
from central Florida, when he grows up
he wants to be Kannon. His work has most
recently appeared in Zygote In My Coffee,
Children Churches and Daddies, and Remark.

2006 Underground Voices