Sour City Poem by Raj Dronamraju

Empires require janitors
To remove the stains of the self-righteous
To mop up after the cold-blooded mistakes of commerce
To vacuum up bits of you and me and the others too fragile for a sour city

In the heart, we harbor the desire to leave this sour city
Like the bride who met her husband on the Internet and reached out in the dark locking fingers with something completely unknown
Knowing that would be better than what she has now

None of us ever had a chance in a place where no one holds doors open for old ladies or said thank you when handed something
Where if your car breaks down and you leave it to go get help, it will be vandalized before you return
And everyone here had the potential for greatness
Or at least that's the story they're telling

I'd settle for a job as a janitor
Cleaning offices after everyone else has gone home
The evening retains the bile of the people soiled by the day
I can feel their accumulated acid, it digests all self-respect