It's a dog eat dog world, and I ain't gonna be a Chihuahua. Creeping around the corner, melting in the shadows, a chill runs up my spine, on my way to the gallows. Sirens wail unanswered over on the next block, screaming their fury across burned out lots. Women turn warriors just to survive, their eyes burn with the memory of another gone-away neighbor. Teenagers embraced in fear devouring each other with one final kiss. A brigade of the last of the V8 Interceptors rushes down the street, crushing hope and dreams, forcing the the weak to scurry quicker than cockroaches in a sudden bright light. Rotties stand guard obeying the commands of their masters, lips foamed with the froth of innate anticipation, while the little ones run in hiding under crumbled cement stairs, their eyes peering out from a hidden fortress like faraway stars flickering ten million light years in the future. Wail for better days, wail for peace that once lived in the undercurrent of the dank, treacherous sewers, poisonous and putrid neon green. But no one hears those wails, and no one can remember the days of tight lawns stretching from park's end to park's beginning, as white lily-dressed women floated like painted nymphs along a pristine walkway, bowing gently to each proper passerby.
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Alfred C. Martino
Updates from everyday life as seen by me