In my perfect life,
I don’t have to drive anywhere.
I’d be living in the city.
Everywhere I need to be
Is either a walk, a bus, or a train ride away.
Eating breakfast out on a terrace or a fire escape
The cacophany of the traffic is music to my ears.
The city becomes my muse
as the morning light reflects off of every skyscraper,
bathing the streets with hope.
I would go to places for writing
like a bookstore with a reading nook
or a village cafe,
taking inspiration from all the things I see.
Each sight and sound
becoming part of my poetry.
In reality, cities can be scary, cynical places.
The city of my dreams is just that, a utopia.
An urban paradise that can never truly be
And yet even the dream of that city
Inspires the likes of writers like me.