Blue Hill Avenue

It begins with Spanglish-speaking merchants
conducting business inside of bulletproof stalls,
where the faint scent of dried cod follows you
to the flat fix next door, into the auto body,
a hair shop, and to the steps of a church
for first generation Cape Verdean-Americans,
their offspring and that old lady --
someone’s  grandmother --
who wears a black dress on Fridays
and walks home from the Market Basket
the same time that you get off the bus
who wears a shopping bag full of tropical foods
and memories on her head.

And if you stand at its first **** south,
you will notice how the families disappear
in the African American section.
There are fewer stores here, lots of energy boxes
with epitaphs: “Tiffany Moore Died Here”;
a seatless swing set, a playground gone fallow.
You won’t see any church steeples in this section
that feeds on a neon CITGO sign too small
to illuminate the skyline like the mega one in Copley does.

A few blocks away, a ghost of the Jewish past sits
with pointy stars of David nestled inside its
bulbous steeples that simmer on summer Sundays
where Haitian congregants stew inside,
praying and giving to the building fund
in damp envelopes that will go to the omnipotent one
who will someday replace the stars with crosses.

And as you keep walking, past the temple,
you enter Grove Hall’s Mecca, a strip mall
with a drive-thru Dunkin Donuts,

a Stop & Shop, CVS, Bank of America,
and a Rainbows that sells your teenaged aunt
the sequined one-off shirt she needs for a date
and the fishnets she wears to the carnival
that parades through a sliver of the avenue,
the very next section of our beloved Blue Hill.

Across the street, Check Cashers speak English
as good as the number of dollars and cents
they count when they hand you back your cashed check
or the double win you scratched out of a Gold Rush ticket.

Adjacent to them, a Greek-owned sandwich shop
that feeds you steak bombs as long as your forearm or
Festive Fridays: 20 wing dings, a pound of fries,
a Greek salad, and a gracious gulp of fountain cola --
essentially, a heart-attack meal.  

Next, another ghost of the Jewish past,
a church in the former Franklin Park Theater,
where Yiddish entertainers performed vaudeville acts
which nobody living can remember.

Then a building that resembles an African footstool,
one that will allow you to see over the **** of the hill
and down below at a gospel choir trapped in everlasting song
against the wall of the one-hour cleaners and that store
where a turkey-shaped lady with flour dusted hands
stands behind a window, noticing you,
while guarding her beef patties and cocoa bread
with a bulletproof smile.

Like a Trickster born to create ****; I got another creation for you.
I got this super mood, cause I'm a super cool dude. So many thoughts come to light, I may seem rude and askew.
I'll drop them off on the block waiting for chopping axes, increased taxes, ***** looks, and misplaced faxes.
Take your classes and learn lessons to never remain uninterested. A sparrow flew by after invested lunch one day, to tell me to take action.
Cast your judgmental glances back onto your own ***** and through self-reflecting glasses, you can see a whole new world different from lost passions, stock-market crashes, Uncle Sam's miss-guided pets, and lost rations.
Blast a meta-physical thought through your head with the metaphorical gun. I'd even shout these words out to you from some hill under the sun. Misty-eyed, stunned, and glum, i'm dumbfounded. Your soul full of refracted hate bends light onto some other *******.
Australia has the right idea to use the sun. Have fun, as North Korea tries to blow it up and start a 3rd world war son.
Bang the beat of your ****** war drum, while I sit peaceful and smile. I'll spread love onto the face of a lost mother or child.
With wild courage and crafty style, I'll continue to create poems that astound you, minute after minute, and mile after mile.
Even spun out. I'll present helpful gifts free of charge and just for fun, I'll never give up like some fear on the run.
Stunned and shunned by some nuns with no fun, that shove religion down your throat that destroys imagination by the ton.
I'm even that ******* that likes his hot dog with ketchup AND mustard on the bun.
With common-sense to smash stupidity one-by-one, you sit self absorbed. Open your minds, for there's a whole new world to explore.
Courage, passion, hope, love, and wisdom will be brought back to you I'm sure. Stir the *** that calls the kettle black.
Jack and Jill can help each other flourish? You be the master. Don't look to the sheeple on your left and right for the answer.
I'll continue to spit these poems out on you, like some impending disaster. Many times, have I met the swindler and the shafter.
After a time to reflect, words flow out faster, spilling out new meanings and inspiring new light flashers.
Spend a thousand cashers at your local JEWelry store like it tells you what love means.
I'll take the metaphorical birch-wood bat and metaphorically make the next crime scene.
Lean over for a kiss as I whisper a dream. The people unite in some shallow grave of insight. Put that up on your big screen.
Hollywood creates action and constructs the next pyramid scheme. What if I were to tell you that new energy was sought?
Great archaeological pyramids once thought to be some tombs long ago, carefully built all over the Earth, they're also new sources of energy bro. Utilize this power for good on the soil, instead of destroying entire civilizations, wildlife, and health for oil.
In due time, I'll send sublime rhymes that turn tides and move fibers that coil. These are poetic visions and dreams that unfoil.
I'll continue to annoy the **** out of the dew of the rude. On wet grass, if the shoe fits, fling it. If this poem speaks to you, sing it.
With this final line, I'll let out a sigh and wing it. I'm just that guy. Come and bring it!

I’m not an heiress
I don’t inherit shares
and shares of merit
just to share it
with the unfairest

I churn to earn
my turn to burn
returning from the urn
I yearn to learn
vernacular of fern

instead I tread
and tread unread
they fed our bread to leaded feds
who shred pedestrians unled
deadheads under bedspreads wed

I **** and choke on the smoke
I poke some coke then
I stroke some bloke to feel ok
under the yoke
I spoke jokes like I am woke

#facts on the graph
mass flashers ***-grab the staff
fast cashers stab the last laugh
flags cast at half
in daft aftermath