Winter Night

Cold winter air bites my skin.
A light breeze has the power of wind,

but the silence is peaceful,
yet lonesome. The crickets have stopped
chirping.

The frozen asphalt of the road, dark black,
foreshadows no coming of any person or car.
The tall leafless trees are like giants of the Ice Age.

The windows of a few houses display
lit yellow rooms,
like the flame of a candle
in a pitch-black cave.

Other houses show no sign of light,
no sign of life,
just abandoned, blown-up boxes
planted on the dry ground.

Everything is perfectly still, everything
except me and
the can of smelly, rotten garbage
between my arms.