James Jaun de la Cruz
August 17, 1998:
A quaint pink house stands alone
in a row of aged city houses
An old white wooden play-pen
and a filthy plastic pool
Spackle the desolation of the front yard
An explosive bark ejaculates
through the early morning air:
"GET OUT YOU F---ING BITCH!
DON'T EVER F---EN COME BACK!"
This must be his method of saying, good bye honey
have a nice day at work.
There he stands
a formidable dark haired grubby man
in a worn white yellow stained under-shirt
nonchalantly swigging on a generic beer can.
A raspy voice hails out in her pain:
"IF YOU DON'T PICK UP THE
TOYS AND CLOTHES YOU CAN'T
GO TO THE PARK TONIGHT!"
A tiny thin voice wails out in reply:
"WHAT TOYS! WHAT CLOTHES!!
WHERE MOMMIE WHERE?"
She was once sweetly pretty
her tangled brown hair flais
about in the mid-summer eves breeze
tears of morose and sorrow streak
her worn out used up melancholy soul
The violence ot the hails and wails escalates
The deadpan Ol' man roams home
with another case of beer
he greets his ragged wife
with a yell and a blight:
"GET MY F---ING DINNER YOU F---ING WHORE
AND SHUT THESE F---ING MAGGOT KIDS UP!"
An angry pink house stands alone
amongst a row of aged city houses
Dirty screaming children run around
in the desolate front yard
A cardboard sign hangs
like a beacon on the porch:
N O V I S I T O R S ...