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 lover. Storyteller. Urbanite-Suburbanite. Poet. Music addict. Editor. Explorer. Wine enthusiast (Malbec, please). 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.
tales of a charm city chick 