Breathes through
A broken lung,
Gray air slithering in like
A snaking, sneaking
Through the street gutters
And down into a seedy underbelly.

From above,
You can see overpasses sprawling
Like swollen organs—
Cracked pavement,
Wet cement,
Heavy traffic.

In the thick of things
Is where the real soul
Lies:

Children playing hide and seek in
Thickets of rain and mud,

Damp yellow teeth brightening
Ashen faces,

Light feet doggedly dancing.