Secrets in the City

The traffic flows across the bridge

Without me even knowing

About the drivers, not a smidge,

Or where the heck they’re going.

 

The same applies to passersby,

A flock of strangers streaming,

Who stroll or jog or scoot, while I,

Upon my bench, sit dreaming.

 

The city holds one’s secrets close,

Which many find appealing,

Though some succumb and overdose

On all of that concealing.