In my neighborhood
Everyone is a bystander
A community of nomadic transients
Tucked away in their windowless pods
This neighborhood
It matters not who you are or
Where you came from
You’ll be gone tomorrow
Neighborhoods like this
No one hears, no one sees
Downward gazes outnumber watchful eyes
We are on our own in this maze
Populated by excrement
Befriended by a discarded bouquet
Witnessed by a single boot
Among an audience of cigarettes
Waterlogged with spirits and loss
Waterlogged with spirits and loss
May they rest in peace
Sprinkled like ashes
Along the frozen edge
Along the frozen edge
Virgin of footprints
Once nightmared by
The scent of awareness
The scent of awareness
Along uniform sidewalks
Bare of ownership
Incapable of connection
A petri dish for despondency
Come on over and sit on my porch! (Knock-out poem!)
At the point where you write: “It matters not who you are…” the poet captures a poem. The petri dish explains everything without mildew or mold…