The City

From ten miles out of town to here
I pass a half-dozen donut shops,
two smoke shops, one
liquor store. You get what
you pay for and clearly
there are those ready to pay for
some form of altered state
just to enter this town,
never mind to stay here,
to live here.  

As for me? My mind is clear.
I do not need a cloud 
of sugar or fat,
of smoke or drink,
to be here. 

I admit to stopping
at one or more of those
stores, but only now and then
is it anything more than
a small enhancement 
that I chase,

for here’s a view from my porch
of nothing but more porches,
a view from my back door
of nothing but more back doors.

There are times when I long to see
tree or stream with no one near them,
or hear surf, the smash of sea
on shore or rock — of course,
I’m human, there are moments
like that when I want to climb
back through the past to 
primacy.

But the view from here
is people and more people
and all the variety sings to me
and all the street sound is symphony
and I cannot want to blunt that
when so much worth knowing
is there within my reach.

Keep the donuts, the vapes
and pipes, the sips and nips
and bottles in need of draining.
Drunk and stoned
and stuffed on the city,
I am at peace.