There was something about the city.
The way they couldn't breathe and felt
walled in, surrounded by brick and mortar
while the smell of toxins and waste fed
their egos with fear.
A cement jungle where beggars and thieves
pound the pavement, dodging gun shots at
2 am and church bells summon the lost souls.
Claustrophobic in its density, everyone looks
for someway to escape as they scurry into
alleyways to break bread with the rats.
The city hums with trauma, off beat music
and broken hearts. The noise offensive.
Those left to sleep on benches bear witness
to yesterday's news and learn to read the
language of silent lips and vacant eyes.
Like zombies they exit buildings as the clock
strikes five o'clock. They meet at the bars
to fill a void and raise their glass as a prayer
to the fallen angels.
They chew on stale conversations, inhale
the dreams of others and exhale their bitter
thoughts. Maintaining a distance, they
hunger for touch.
With the taste of disappointment on their
tongues, they look for hope in the gutters
in a city full of secrets and regret.
Once upon a time, Karen A VandenBos was born on a warm July morn in
Kalamazoo, MI. She can be found unleashing her imagination in two online
writing groups and her writing has been published in Lothlorien Poetry Journal,
Blue Heron Review, The Rye Whiskey Review, One Art: a journal of poetry,
Anti-Heroin Chic, The Ekphrastic Review and others.
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