Changing Belfries

Strolling Yonge Street at night
you know you're in the Big City
neon zapping the summer dark
advertising businessmen's luncheons
"Bare Fax Revealed!"
overblown photographs
of overblown blondes, brunettes --
but who looks at the hair?

Crowds throng like lemmings
at intersections moving as one
huge organism shifting feet
up Toronto's jazzblaring strip
then down again
fundamental steps in some
arcane orgiastic rite.

"Adult Entertainment", woos
the middle-aged couples gawking
the weird and funky swingers
and among them all tourists
gape at the spectacle of
unbridled zest for life.

Sure, the street's alive
and throbbing with action
pick-ups and let-downs
even zombies approach vacant-eyed
with outstretched hand
panhandling as though the
streets were running gold.

Store windows lighted like day
merchandise colouring stares
eating places steaming the glass
punk rock reminding everyone
of life's essence; sexdopebooze.

Heady stuff and cheap
entertainment strolling the street;
painted ladies and chest-bare men
sizing up and speculating.
Above, bats squeal, loop the sky
bounce signals off buildings.