Poverty

Dessert, desert… whichever one matches

I drove across the mountains,

not for the first time,

but for the first time in a long time. 

As I watched 

the landscape changed 

with the altitude,

then I descended 

back down 

to the other side.

I watched 

as the surroundings 

reverted 

to wilderness;

it seemed both familiar 

and foreign. 

I once haunted 

this half of the state…

reluctantly. 

Now I was coming back,

just for my own entertainment. 

Still, I had to pause 

at a trailer-park

where once lived,

wondering;

“How was it,  I ever sustained myself 

in this miserable little corner 

of the world?”

Children were playing 

where once I worried 

about money, 

paychecks,

bills,

and the day-to-day.

Then I continued

to the hotel I had booked, 

and the concert

that had brought me

east. 

I would go on to have

an awesome night…

but for those kids

(back at the trailer park)

tomorrow 

would just be tomorrow,

but I 

would return 

home. 

How is this 

progress? 

Urban hermit

The homeless guy and I
both know the rhythm of the lights
and cross the street in unison
before the sign can change.

He knows far better, though,
the truth of the city’s nuance.
He will pull the streets upon himself to sleep
while I must suffer with a mere blanket.

His clothes match the nature of his world
while my shorts and work-wear are anathema.
He sups on the caviar of the trash can
while I suffer theĀ plethora of my fridge.

These skyscraper canyons
and glass-clad metal forrests
are his domain; he is an urban settler
and I have trespassed on his claim.

The light runs its cycle again
and the concrete river carries him
down currents only he can navigate
as I shelter on the shore
of the wilds he commands.