in a neighborhood where a border
ebbed and flowed like tides
the gentrified and the untamed
made an uneasy peace
like old cobblestone sidewalks and fresh pastel paints,
moments of smiles and acceptance.
in the near shadow of a Capitol
in the airways and alleyways
group of untamed boys become a mob
a Guinea Fowl,(--)a zoo fugitive(--) now prey of a wilding
amid screams and shouts, hurled cobblestones
a frantic bird an even more frantic hunt
While on the street, people with bright futures
people with dim and hazy pasts, passed.
Shiny new car keys and day old liquor bottles
branded each; they shared sidewalks
but not evening talks, tolerance
was the watch word as howling boys
and clucking hen, acted out a scene
from an African forest…and no one looked up
to count stars or envy the shape of the moon
they were worlds apart here…on this narrow city street.
2 comments:
Ah, well, the largest place I have ever lived had a population of about 20,000 people and even that was miserable (I couldn’t wait to get out), most of my life has been lived outside the boundaries of small, rural towns.
And I suppose, there’s a conditioning effect that comes from environments that we live in. I expect to sense certain things within my environment, when those senses are confirmed, I feel—at peace. When they are not confirmed, then there is a heightened awareness, a disequilibrium that is unsettling. I would never expect most of the sensory stimuli that your poem depicts beyond the first stanza, and even that is a stretch because of the general homogeneity found in these rural areas and everyone is blessed and screwed to about the same degree, the stratification is much less I suppose, though what does exist is tempered by passive tolerance and a general avoidance of social contact (a not-quite smile and almost dismissive nod that pass for mutual politeness).
My first experience in a big city wasn’t until I was about 20, and it was a sensory overload; too much traffic, too many people, too many sounds and lights, places, an overwhelming scent in the air, things all flowing in every direction simultaneously… For me, there was no sense of focus, no point of being, no purpose or meaning… because it wasn’t my environment and I had no maps or understandings of the flow, the vibrations, or the rhythms of living going on.
~Genie~
thank you for your thoughts, i think my experience was the opposite. I lived in medium and large cities and went to rural areas in summertime as a boy- to farms, to wilderness areas. I loved my summers Appalachian trail, Algonquin reservation-- paddling a boat among petrified tree stumps, living off the land-- so that was home-- wide skies full of stars. This poem is from my days in Washington, DC-
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