Carnival

Through the night the roller-coaster
and its screaming choir, and the soft,
mechanical music of the carousel, go on,
and the limousines stop in the street
beneath the casino's neon balconies.
Over your back a breeze blows in
and the soft blue curtains rise in the room.
You manage to sleep; around your quiet dreams
the city blazes and also dreams:
in its dream of itself the yellow cabs
race through the streetlit avenues
and the sidewalks are crowded with the carnival crowd.
But you lie in the dark
and fail to hear the clock tower chiming twice.

(Written in the late '70s, I imagine. I still have a thing about yellow cabs.)