Perceptions

Perceptions By Taalib Brown My New York lens is covered in grime A filth large enough to receive a fine and pass the city dumping line. Pedestrians are rushing and racing to their cubby holes. Trees leak a yellow-greenish sap the way sewers leak when overflowed. Dogs barking boldly and their masters will not admonish. These people look like untimely rainbows; Colors brighten and diminish the urban shine. Concrete worry-filled both cold and hot— It makes an interesting combination. Musky, stale air fills this subway station stacked with the second class, Sprinkled with the first. These windows shift from clean to dirty to water-stained Whether in high altitude or on an underground train, My windows are covered in stains. They fog up like hot breath hit them and then remained. Through my windows I see the hustle, Fast cash changes hands, Poor people where slave muzzles, and color is more of a cover. Pick up the man holes and let out the men. Their homes are built from sticks— Not bricks. I feel like I’m a giant looking down from where I sit. Too bad this view won’t last, New York changes with every minute passed.