A Simple Scene From Inside America Poem by Scott J. Shepard

A corner where faces meet between
a small town and a busy brain
the widened street lay bare
thinking gutter thoughts;
the pavement, glossy
a color of fresh figs,
inside, an earthly flesh
exposing the innermost keepsakes
of where this place took root.
An intersection divides pedestrian
from orator whose words like paste
mend those municipal oppressions
fracturing everyday life on this street,
lay exposed the hearts of those
that beat the loudest for justice.
Across the way like the pages of a book
a pastor mouths lyrical bedrocks
where only the long arms of God
stretch their path between the two.
West along the thoroughfare
heaven is finest when iced like champagne
an electronic broadcast, no gospel choir
but a polyphonic trance, the body heat
a taste like salt after tequila.
A morning sun rises east
the sleepless night shelters on a southbound train
where commuters sit, packed,
between briefcases,
papers shimmying back and forth
to benefit the municipal.
Children hurry to the playground
less adult and more nonsense
all monkey bars, jump rope
hopscotch and laughter,
innocence.