Nightwalk James Boeckmann Your neighborhood looks different At 3:30 in the morning When you haven’t seen a car in an hour Even though you’ve walked a three-mile lap, And the only way to watch the colors change Is to sit on the sensor in the middle of the road. Your neighborhood sounds different At 3:30 in the morning When shuffle never finds the right song So you take out your headphones And ball up the cord in your pocket, And when the dogs could be barking only at you. Your neighborhood feels different At 3:30 in the morning When your bare feet are sore and callused From the concrete and occasional stick or gumball, And when your patio is much rockier than you thought Now that you’re trying to pretend it’s a bed.
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