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Jun 2013
Looking at a city on the surface
only shows you one single image.
Underneath it all, a city is a separate world.
What if the city was nothing more than a nature preserve
for people?
Each citizen an ant working and carrying on in their daily lives as little ants do.
And the buses, they can be the caterpillars of the streets,
inching along,
s   l   o   w   l   y
in search of their next meal, or in this case, the next stop.
The city is where you can pluck plastic bags from tress like fruit
and loose papers fly like birds through the air.
The actual birds, pigeons mostly, are the sickness of the city,
parasites.
Taking and not giving
…stupid pigeons…
The streets are the tunnel crafted by the ants,
twisted
               between
                                        and
                                 beside
                    their
                                          artfully
                crafted
tower.
Oh the wonders a suburban girl sees when she meets the big city.
A poem crafted upon my combined first experience of New York and Chicago.
Lyndal Doherty
Written by
Lyndal Doherty
539
   AJ
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