New York City Day And Life - Poem by Captain Cur
Steel and metal, bolts and screws,
Cement mixers, gravel crews,
Building highways, building roads,
Commuting far from our abodes.
Skyline structures, building plans,
Sewage systems, hydro dams,
Serpentine slithered ridge,
Arching braids, Cable Bridge.
Hollowed tunnels, strobing lights
Matrix seams holding tight,
Sucked inside, spewed without
Underwater submerged route.
Swerving, veering, honeycombing,
Traffic patterns, weaving, roaming.
Insect martyrs, stained glass shields.
Eighteen-wheelers never yield,
Climbing, crawling up your spine,
Upgrades fleeting they decline,
Downgrades wild maverick thrills,
Air brakes hissing through their gills.
Gridlock, fuming, traffic jam,
Imposition, idling hands,
Ruthless stealing parking sleuth,
Every gesture now uncouth.
Punched the clock at one to nine,
Time for coffee, then unwind,
Myriad meetings, liquid lunch,
Brainstorming in a crunch.
New York Post, right wing kernel,
Times, News, Wall Street Journal,
All the news that's fit to mint,
Propagandized cyber print.
Laptops, iPads, iPhones, Droids,
Captured eyeballs techno void,
Facebook, gaming, pull the plug,
Fattened calves are now our young.
Greed, graft, pillaged pensions,
Occupy Wall Street, rising tensions,
Trampling tents with police ponies,
Corrupt judges, political cronies.
Stocks, bonds, futures, hedges,
Market crashes, men on ledges,
Powerhouses that go broke,
Failing banks, worthless notes.
Culture, arts, diverse centers,
China, Italy, foreign vendors,
Soho, Chelsea, United Nations
Empire State, Liberty torch,
Freedom's crumbled horrid cost.
Phantom towers in the sky,
Tears that must refuse to dry.
Firefighters, police, medics,
First responders come and get us,
Devoid of fear to save a life,
Orphaned children, widowed wife.
Central Park, summer days,
Films, bookstores, theater, plays.
Diamond district, restaurant guides,
Nostalgic horse and carriage rides.
Subway, buses, dual port planes,
Locomotives, Metro trains,
Moving chattel, rolling stock,
Railroading round the clock.
One to five, sun is falling,
Diverse ethic foods are calling,
Traveling over tar pitched roads
Trailing back to our abodes.
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