Springtime in Baltimore.
Power lines sway, neighbors greet,
Helen turns tricks in the sunshine,
a syringe rolls by my feet.
My lawn is an ashtray
and home to a stray weave.
The junkie next door beats his wife.
One word. Believe.
It’s printed in black and white–
as if things were that clear.
Dog owner and lover. Urbanite-Suburbanite. Music addict. Editor. Explorer. Wine enthusiast (Malbec, please). Orange Crush abuser. Anglophile. People watcher. My dream job? Writer, or a Tom Jones back up singer. Well, not Tom Jones now, but Tom Jones in the early '70s...so let's go with the writing thing.
Reblogged this on kylemew.com and commented:
deep dark and beautiful
nice
muah
Very nice. I admire those of you who write poetry. You’ve said much in so few words.
Thank you, Carrie! I think poetry is challenging. I try to reconnect with it when I can, but it usually looks like it was written by an angsty teenager.
snAP!
That was so sad and beautiful La La. Excellent!
Bisous,
Dawn
Thanks!
Amazing poem. Images flickered and flared through my mind. Terrific job!
Thanks Kourtney
This is hilarious, and I think you’re obsessed with Helen. Is she stalking you, or are you stalking her?
We stalk each other!