Poem

Tourists in Their Own City

It's curious that people take their cameras everywhere
Like tourists in their own city, they feel the need to share.

With smiles fixed, and hair just right, and loved ones in their embrace,
They perch on rocks in the park that's their's, they paid for in the first place.

One night a year, maybe two or three, downtown becomes alive,
with citizens who seem overjoyed, who've made the half-hour drive.

I wish they would do this more often, I wish they would take ownership,
of the city they paid for, the city that needs them to do more than take a trip.

It's dead when they're gone, and alive when they're there,
when they're out of their cars, when they all seem to care,
when they notice pedestrians, and are finally aware,
that people do live here, who walk, and bike,
explore the streets every day and night,
who don't need a car to get there.

So, take your pictures and don't forget, that it's more than your loved ones who make up the set.
It's the city around you, the streets and the lights, and others who use them, who give them their life.