Iron Grate

Walking home, the streetlights bleed.

A sudden hiss, a whispered need

from somewhere deep beneath the tar.

A rumble, felt from far.

The iron lid, a perfect circle,

holding back the dark, the burble

of unseen currents, wires, pipes,

all the city’s hidden types.

What worlds exist down there, unseen?

A different, grimy, humid scene.

Just the pattern, cold and stark,

a lid upon the dark.