Nighttime, 1998
by Will Mayo
When the night is quiet and the traffic does not move and the wind is the only sound you hear. No pedestrians cross the street. No neighbors open their doors. Beggars are all a’ slumbering in alleys made for the ill of heart. Whiskey cannot be bought even at the lowest price. And you know the terror no man should know. Then it is that the wind should usher in a silence that deafens the dawn. The clock ticks and the night is never really quiet.
Copyright @Will Mayo 2017
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A poem from the book: “Roadmaps of the Mind”
By Will Mayo Published by Southern Owl Publications, LLC www.southernowlpublications.net
