Friday, June 17, 2011

poem of the day 06.17.11


the streets are lined with empties
empty bottles, yes
but empty storefronts

another one gone
in the ever-spinning downturn

that old bar
an italian restaurant
that looked intimate at night
despite the people congregated there
playing on their smart phones

someone’s greek diner
a paper store bold enough to open
in the twenty-first century
selling those nostalgic luxuries

they are empties lining the street
building shells
with colored paper on the walls
and bright closed signs
hanging on the door

the record store
the newsstand
even the big box store that took a hit


that guy sleeping on the grate
since april

the kids
tossing hats and tassels into the air
on permanent summer vacation
in their parent’s home
staring at the empty walls
of their childhood bedrooms
looking down the barrel of an empty future

where will all of these people go?
surely they’ve been reading the paper
and have seen that the ones we put into power
simply do not care

the middle eastern joint gone dark
the bakery with stale cookies
in their cloudy window
the fruit stand where everything
has gone rotten

they couldn’t hack it out there in this mess
with those kinds of fools running the show
and i won’t be the one to blame them
because i’m barely hanging on

for there is nothing
and there is nothing to be done right now

because this has been going on for years
and there is nowhere to go for comfort

nothing to do

but filter yourself into this broken system
drink the tainted water
and gaze into the scorched and humid sky

update your facebook status
and twitter your displeasure

blog your sullen little heart out

wander these corroded streets
of dead dreams and burned out ambition
past the chains and graffiti-covered awnings
past rental signs fading from the sun

think about what was
and where we’re all heading

continue to watch the winter of our discontent
live on your favorite 24/7 cable news source

until it becomes too much
and you want to storm the capitol building
with torches and enough rope
for a solid day’s work.

1 comment:

bandit said...

love the prosody