Bonita Poem by Greg Dennison

Inside my heart is a ghetto, it's windows are broken.
It's streets are deserted.
You will run your fingers along brick, as you walk beside the boulevard.
You brave soul.
You, who walks in the dusk. Beneath empty branches, memories stripped away, against a straining Autumn sky.
You, who pulls her sweater close to fight off the Autumn chill.
Who pulls her sweater close to remember.
You brave soul.
My heart is a ghetto, a bottle broken on the concrete: smashed into a million bits, only to be picked up, piece by piece, by you.
Your finger tips labor with love, digging into the good Earth, mixed with glass, with blood.
And begin a good work in me.
And your's is a sidewalk, an open field, an elevator.....a way out.
I need you.
One day these streets will be filled again.
The people will come outside.
Cars & time will pass us by like the tide & there I will see you: bonita.