In My Dreams

by John Guzlowski


There are no people, just things
like cars and trees and sometimes
a highway but no people.

Not my wife Linda
or my daughter Lillian
or my grand-daughter Lulu,
not even my mother or father
or my sister who is still alive
and lives in Chicago.

Sometimes in my dreams
I’ll be walking on a city street,
probably Chicago where I grew up,
and there will be cars
driving past me slowly,
and I’ll try to see who’s driving
but I can never make it out.

Not that there are people in the car,
there aren’t even shadows.

The cars seem to be moving
on their own. Slowly.

I walk and see
gardens and flowers,
grass here and there,
more buildings, but no people.

Is this what hell will be like?

Maybe it’s heaven.

Jean Paul Sartre said hell
is other people. So this
may be heaven.

Empty streets.

A lonely place.

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