Urban life decay...watching the street lights
blink on, and
fireflies dance around
open windows
where drunk husbands
yell at black-eyed Susans, and
Little Johnnies;
spray-painting their anguish
for police to interpret as
delinquency.
Trash cans set on the curb
rattle with bottles,
under the counter self sedation, and
crunch with broken china,
a state of despair I hope never to visit.
Bedroom window screens
are taken out for easy escape
for teen drama queens
into a night
of fast cars, and
unseen scars, and
too-dim stars,
blocked
by the street lights,
and
the lives
they reveal.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem