state of confusion
Under The Overpass
Immaculate rows of ivory bungalows
nestled on a quaint and winding lane,
juxtaposed to an ugly addition,
gray background to taut turf.
Shadow castle streams a steady drone,
invisible gasses poison bay breezes,
neighbors wave to one another,
figure eight dance of the push mower.
Under the overpass they live,
constant combat of the cast-out.
A man sets up shop at rush hour,
on the median he rests on a cane,
cardboard sign and green fatigues.
Drivers trapped there look anywhere
but into the Vet's hard blue stare.
Tiny frosted holiday lights
display white cyclamens, isn’t it nice!
Pair of shoes tied together
dangles from telephone wires,
street signal for “drugs sold here.”
Angry citizenry post their riposte,
“Drug Free Zone.”
One night, a gun fight,
Drug pusher “A” killed drug pusher “B.”
In thick terry robes, carrying lamps
Ritual revelries held over a corpse.
House values soared for a time,
Along with white hopes,
old cars replaced by “beemers.”
Until one day a pair of shoes appeared,
the cycle of urban, suburban war.
© 1999 Corinne Bailey