1/8/2010
Untitled
The streets are filled with mercenaries,
yellow and in cages swinging west to east
in parlor windows and barbershop terraces.
below them lie the bruised and battered
boxes of produce, left to rot in the
stagnant sun. Apples turned tepid
and slightly alcoholic before the bananas
mustered enough courage to yell,
“Enough is enough! Go away will you?”
And the mercenaries pray for the onlookers,
alcoholics sipping apples through crazy straws,
lawyers with their underwear outside their trousers
chasing women, topless, through alleyways
and into abandoned automotive factories.
Dogs in heat maul cats with no claws.
And while the mercenaries sit naked and swinging,
trapped and praying, the sun settles over the leafless trees,
and the world dies screaming.
