An alley never concerns itself. An
alley always concerns the social
geometry that shapes it—a pompous
boulevard’s way of saying
alleys will gladly be whatever cities
want ‘em to be. I’ve never met
an alley, though, that didn’t have something
to say about disappointment. An alley’s
often a lane with a rap-sheet, or
a refugee-camp for shadows. Once
I knew an alley that would get drunk
and boast that it used to be a highway.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Hans: I like this one. Reminds me a little of Blue Highways by William Least Heat Moon. Back streets almost always have more character than thoroughfares. Streets are planned, alleys are more spontaneous. Alley cats are more interesting than lap dogs. And the Back Street Boys are (were) a misnomer. Thanks! -G