Rank

Something there is that is rotten in the state of state

that imposes the doorman’s snappy salute to the uptown patron;

      leaves the frazzled waitress to grovel for a tip;

      requires genuflection as the lawn-mower man

scraps for yard-work from the landed

      mandates a nod of submission in the workplace.

Something there is that is rank.

Congress can pass laws yet gravity never yields.

The somebodies define the nobodies as sure as 

the earth whirls through the cosmos.

Something there is that is rotten in this state of flux

that pinches the wallet and soul as a new Lexus rolls off the lot;

        tears at the heart as the face sags and the butt balloons;

        shreds all our dignity as we don the faddish blouse made in

  sweat or slurp the coffee grown for pesos, sold for dollars;

        diminishes as we venerate the half witted celebs we see on TV.

Something there is that is rank.

Somebody will see all this status anxiety as silly. 

Somebody will realize nobody is a nobody. 

Some will some day, I am quite sure.

Something there is that is rotten in the state of affairs

that sets the wild-eyed beggar-man to spinning for the ‘bus fare’;

      demands of the happy bride a vow to love and to obey;

      forces the fragile, uniformed maid to make the careful show of

deference to her subtle employer as she dusts the tabletop;

      gnaws at the plumber as he bends over in ill fitting jeans.

Something there is that is rank.

© Byron Harris, 2012 

Waitress serving in a restaurant while wearing a chicken costume
Photo by Ross Berteig, Wikimedia Commons

The Corner of Second and Ho

Rounding past the meadow, east of the lake,

Agony exuberant shouts for all on the make.

Rises up the intersection where all the damned go,

For here's Hell's Hell at the corner of Second & Ho.

In one corner, poor Deek struts in fashion threadbare.

His eyes see nothing, just horizon-less despair.

"I will always be with you, I will don't you know"

Intones this broke man on the corner of Second & Ho.

Across the way, Hungry Willie lazes on a lawn chair alone.

Belly extended, guzzling booze as he gnaws a leg bone.

Reaching for coke below the awning of Wings-to-Go

He rasps, "But no one can fly from the corner of Second & Ho.”

First Class fingers the cars as they speed their merry way,

But what fear motors their hearts, no one will say.

As he pees on a pole, First Class teases those in the know

"Change’s coming at last" to the corner of Second & Ho.

Gomer hears this snide taunt and finds strength (from above?)

Out of the chop shop, she staggers into the street preaching love.

The yos & hos freeze at her words, both the high & the low

Then rush to embrace - GRACE - by the corner of Second & Ho.

As they move off the curbs, a family wagon stops in its tracks.

Windows roll up, locks snap into place, pale faces draw back.

Blessed Gomer staggers back among the meek, life's sad undertow,

Sweeping away all hope on down the corner of Second & Ho.

                                        

As the crowd departs, she snarls "Cracker" at that blue-eyed fool.

The Chevy drives on, darkness returns, again the bleary-eyed drool.

"The first may go first, but the last shall last forever and ever mo'"

Murmurs Gomer to herself athwart the corner of Second & Ho.

© Byron Harris, 2011

At the corner; photo by Tony Russell