"My city, the city of aluminum siding"
where people insulate
their nakedness
with color-coordinated boards
of brown, light blue, mint green
where the faint smell of elm leaves
drifts
a drifter thumbing a ride
where fears if they have shoulders,
wear Izod or Polo
and if they show a mouth,
close-lip a cigarette.
The streets stretch oil arms,
bend at the elbow
to fondle a mall or outlet store,
an actuary in a trench coat
looms behind
each lamppost, leers
as folks show their thoughts
of direction
in headlights because
to break a shadow
creates a life.
And if that life
is yours -- you can
be born again! --
leave the ashphalt,
the streets, the roads
and take
the winding creeks,
open every door
the purl fingers
until you reach a home.
If you spit on the siding,
the owner will appear
with a cloth
and a ready hand
to say
welcome to my city.
© 2007 Hephaestes
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