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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 4369 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention Philadelphia Robert E. Jordan Philadelphia, a city of streets laid out in regular squares, lined with row houses built end to end, loaded with people who know each other, what it’s all about. The immigrant girl visited in church by the Virgin Mary, who claims to this day She was really there; the elders that chalked it up to being the result of hunger, who still claim She wasn't; the guy that gave her sixty seven cents for her body, who didn't care if She was or wasn't. The baby left in the street with sodden diapers; who changed his own, when he was able. The slightly built boy that lost his parents to jail, left alone on the street, who got drunk on an empty stomach and passed out. The funny guy patrolman that found him and liked what he saw, who started taking off the kid's shirt; the neighborhood mother that didn't like what was going down, who pulled the kid's shirt back down, shouted, "hey he's only a kid". The old man cut in the street with bottles thrown by predatory children; who still likes a bottle now and then. The drunken friend falling off the Frankford El crushed on the tracks, who still has friends that mourn his accident. The kid that rolled his drunken dad so the rest of the family could eat, who felt his old man was a little self-centered. The kids' little sister that watched her dad beaten by neighbors, who still has a heart of gold. The abused lady walking under the El with tears streaming down her face, who still has a vision to see. The skinny kid that we teased because his mother slept under bar tables, who is still skinny and drives a cab. The cop that shot seven rounds into the back of my fallen friend; who is still on the force. The black friend denied access to the hotel pool because of his shade; who now owns the hotel; the rest of us who were hot and sweaty and missed a good swim too, who were pissed at the bigotry and still are. The curvy neighbor girl sitting on her stoop that the cops desired but didn't get, who’s still curvy and a sweet Grandmother. The crippled up Auntie, touching the TV hoping for a cure by a big mouthed preacher, who gave up on the preacher and brought me presents instead. The mother walking miles home on arthritic legs, home from scrubbing floors downtown, who raised her kids and still lives at ninety-five. The idiot humming all night on a front porch swing because they forgot to take him in, who is on the street because he still hasn't been taken in. The boys entertained with blue flicks on boats off Penn Treaty Park, who bought cigarettes and beer with the money; the poor still hated faggots that paid them to come to the boats, who were always disappointed. The gaggle of children Friday midnight; sitting in the rain on the church steps, who can't go home because it’s not safe. The young friend that screamed and cried every time she was touched, who couldn't survive and didn’t. The homeless kid, shivering with his prostitute mom in an old car a winter night, who prayed they had enough gas to last until morning. The child dying needlessly from rabies because no one knew, who went to heaven. |
