A beautiful morning on a street with style,

will tell a lot about you. A few trash cans

have been burnt overnight, the smell lingering like skunk.

The birds are stubborn, they sing proudly

having refused to leave through gunshots

and drug deals at three o’clock.

 

At first light I walk under the bushy trees, long grass

unkempt and divine. I greet the storied men

either washing their cars or standing like gargoyles.

They have smiled through hell and will one day vanish

without saying a word.

 

I mourned through

the depression eras, harassed or left alone,

nearly homeless, emergency room reject,

out of luck

or victim of too much luck.

 

I picked up a pencil

and began writing what I saw,

tigers fallen in love

with their cages.