out in the street
halfway down town
there is that big
red bargain store
plainly on the busy
remaining corner place
where street folk
hang and meet
groups of this
scenes that rhyme
homelessness and fentanyl
with such sad stories to tell
concealed in every alley
retelling revealing stories
compelling mischief and vicious crime
conspicuously out front
those poncy fonts of colour
right under niggling lights
where fidgeting sorts
short skirted gidget girls
stuck on digital phones
while some rigid
men and women walk
others strut and shine
zombie drug addicts
stumbling they fall
all that sombre litter
beneath buried excess trash
ranks of has been and still green
pompous plastic garbage bags
elastic stuffed up with rags
used against roughed up curbs
tough things and graffiti walls
it seems drugs and crime
leave a muggy grime
tidbits of fatal art
installations and exhibits
trepidation in every city
those inner city streets
bearing a tragic beck
harried by some worrisome call
those Shenzhen prostitutes
giggling and wriggling
teasing in skin tight shorts
wearing revealing halter tops
smoking long hot cigarettes
stoked in their skimpy thongs
broken by their weary wrongs
altered with cheerless bling to sell
weaving through scary street hell
hurry further up town
more flurry and scurvy finance
sometimes scurrilously known
wearing just another down trodden frown
some nominal place for example
trifling sites in the city of Lvov
eleven year old boys
swirling and twirling around
dancing and freely prancing
those scamps on cemented city steps
inventively playing and swinging
revolving around black lamp posts
those young tramping boys
cramped beside their ample mother's
displaying their disappointment
slaying life with plastic rainbows
bearing brother's machine gun toy
listen and watch all that taunting
haunting ways and perilous ploys
distant war and those fearless boys
not so coy with their machine gun toys
real gangsters fire bristling bullets
overtly hunting and hurting
inculcating big city stories
youngsters living with their plastic ways
ask what is morally adjunct
there are homeless people
trapped in a drunken funk
there are those fallen gangsters
stuffed into bloodied trunks
there are those far away places
that have more immoral stories to tell
incensed with chills and storied hearing
gory frightful sights and horrid smells
there are those frittered faces
fettered by drugs on Kensington street
not so sweet in down home Philly
a dilly of an immoral story pal
then those good-natured nomads
traveling the Kalahari and Serengeti
what mirror's grounded herdsmen
in every astounding desert zone
far from that broken city tone
once upon a token time
most coping folk had a home
living with some real hope
treating big city headaches
knowing recipes for remedial remedies
still there are distrusted enemies
infringed with marks in city streets
encrusted within busted up nature
living as most frustrated people do
warring over water and soil
perhaps there are places
realms that are even hotter
still there must be
some safe places
where people escape war and toil
almost safe seems a modern wonder
oddly sleeping and dreaming
while outside it's storms and thunder
no wonder the world is a performing mess
so many conform to poverty
so much big city stress
all those haves and have-nots
often pressed with morbid slurry
places void of meat and potatoes
what things hurriedly brought people
dwelling in those upset spots
most driven by personal distress
trumped and stumped by social shock
escaping dangerous plots of this and that
living in corrupted city streets
most are probed and ice cold
some are doped and burning hot
most have hopeless nightmares
full of razors and a switch blade knife
terror and horror is all they've got
their indiscreet outdoor life
crushed by daily harm and relentless defeat

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