Cursing At The People Of The Avenue Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

There was one morning
Where the dames were
All dressed quaintly
With their teeth sticking
Out of their lips,
Their superfluous handbags
All over the place
The men went mad
As they ogle at the women
At places

A hotshot came by
And he's as sick as a limping hound
He got out of his car
And he wore the face
Of a disdainful fellow
How I hated his face
And I think I whispered,
"One wrong statement, I'll punch
His face -"
His stench was noxious
His presence was obnoxious
And I guess all the people
Of the avenue carried
The same affinity.

It's when I am at the parking lot
That I notice all of the foolish people
All the narcissistic sons of nonchalance
All the really ugly people
I don't know if the parking lot
Is cursed, or if the world was,
Or maybe perhaps the people
Of the parking lot were the curses
Themselves or maybe I was just
Too finicky with my demands
With people but I tell you,
They are really, really
Terrible people.

I was smoking my stale cigarette
With a friend as we were seated
On a russet wooden chair
The masses came in
Smoking all over the place
The smoke faded
The macabre too
The petrichor somewhat amalgamated
With their sordidness
"Let's go some place else."
I told him
And he nodded - I know he shares
The same beliefs that I have
And at how I see the faceless crowd.

We moved to different places
And we find that the avenues
Are satiated with horrible people

Beautiful people with horrendous souls
"I'm starving." my old pal, Norman said
And I was starving too

All the people were starving
But no matter how hard
You starve the people of the avenue,
Their terrible idiosyncrasies
Their lackluster offenses
Their stupid faces
Will never go away