as yet

sounds of gunshot, 3:48 am, what would be construction noise if it weren't the morning of sunday night, a lone freight train whistle, and yet no sirens' cry. 
i remember now thinking my soles were so thick and hard this summer. now the skin is sloughing day by day, the old leather cracking and peeling, the new skin cracking with the old, trying to keep my feet covered, as skin is made to protect. the baby skin, the man skin, the growing pains. now the sirens cry, the cranes flash red like radio tower signals broadcasting immanent pervasive change.