Does not run,
Covered in paint and crude words.
A landmark saying, “This is the place of the forgotten.”
Run-down houses, peeling paint.
Sour smells of screeching busses. people cough.
Smoke, dirt, crooked trees,
Sidewalks heavy from too many journeys.
Used books. rotting fruit in rotting stores.
A memory of color, of voice.
Dying, subsiding almost lost.
The murals are only more paint on the dirty walls now.
Forgotten, begging recognition.
Young and old walk the streets with heads down. a decaying world.
Forgotten by the rest of the city.
Unseen pigeons flapping, cooing.
Homeless line the streets, stories untold.
Then out into light a block away. shiny, new, known.
No one coughs, no one cries.
No one sees but everyone knows
The world that lays right next-door.
Available in The Other Side of the Story.