Indigent / outcast
trailer trash
flotsam.
We are products of our surroundings.
Or is it upbringing
Taken / down
Far from home
If it's where the heart is...
"Worthless idiot"
She spits on me
Like her rednecks and niggar ****
Her tricks
Quick to flick
Their Bics and *****
Bringing home the other
Black.
Reynolds wrap and points at the back
Hiding in the thickness
Of weeping veils
Of willows
Outside the picket fence
Just beyond Royale Park mobile
Community
Missing it's gate
All the times shivoo
When the South is clammy
Sweat shop swamps
And blistering
Hot like Gold
Coast fires / petrol dragons' breath
(She's a mockery
Of the word -- revelations
Turning
Now napkins and coasters
Tissue for ****** noses.)
Vagrant vespers
In the dark
she lets the men
Inside her double wide
Inebriated bruises
Polka dot excuses
Even in the city
It's funny
How the homeless can hide
Out in the open
Escape...
Indigent / outcast
Trailer trash
Minutiae boy
Barely half / legally life blind
And lucky to be alive
Still in search of
Some kind
Home.
Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 8:37 PM UTC
Indigent / outcast
trailer trash
flotsam.
We are products of our surroundings.
Or is it upbringing
Taken / down
Far from home
If it's where the heart is...
"Worthless idiot"
She spits on me
Like her rednecks and niggar ****
Her tricks
Quick to flick
Their Bics and *****
Bringing home the other
Black.
Reynolds wrap and points at the back
Hiding in the thickness
Of weeping veils
Of willows
Outside the picket fence
Just beyond Royale Park mobile
Community
Missing it's gate
All the times shivoo
When the South is clammy
Sweat shop swamps
And blistering
Hot like Gold
Coast fires / petrol dragons' breath
(She's a mockery
Of the word -- revelations
Turning
Now napkins and coasters
Tissue for ****** noses.)
Vagrant vespers
In the dark
she lets the men
Inside her double wide
Inebriated bruises
Polka dot excuses
Even in the city
It's funny
How the homeless can hide
Out in the open
Escape...
Indigent / outcast
Trailer trash
Minutiae boy
Barely half / legally life blind
And lucky to be alive
Still in search of
Some kind
Home.
This is from the perspective of a character in a story I am writing, he is a young poet who reads at open mic slams and recounts his life thru verse and spoken word. Later he will meet the businessman and their lives will shape and change each other just by being who and what they are. There will be a few more added later, enough to compile a chapbook for the epilogue of the story.
Note : this piece is all fiction from the point of view of the character Sol.
Request permission to use this poem