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clangtheoPoems
In the mustard yellow smoke that floats along the streets there drifts a burned and greasy smell through shot-out windows from frying pans ignored while on the phone to a neighbor. I long to turn the burner off, but it smells like home to them. By ****** puddles warm with sewer gas I pass with too much grace—and weave a dainty two-step down gaping alleyways beneath clothes strung out like a lifeline, sifting murky sunlight through threadbare cotton. Old and ugly patterns dangle from a nylon cord-- cut it and they fall against the wall and are ***** again. I shove my hands in my pockets and walk on.
0
Jan 9, 2018
Jan 9, 2018 at 9:15 PM UTC
the wrong side of town.
In the mustard yellow smoke that floats along the streets there drifts a burned and greasy smell through shot-out windows from frying pans ignored while on the phone to a neighbor. I long to turn the burner off, but it smells like home to them. By ****** puddles warm with sewer gas I pass with too much grace—and weave a dainty two-step down gaping alleyways beneath clothes strung out like a lifeline, sifting murky sunlight through threadbare cotton. Old and ugly patterns dangle from a nylon cord-- cut it and they fall against the wall and are ***** again. I shove my hands in my pockets and walk on.
#city#life#urban#decay#poverty#inner
Written by
clangtheo
Jan 9, 2018
Jan 9, 2018 at 9:15 PM UTC
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