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Cold reality and despair lay around the corner.
Humanity's unclean sleep on its hardened edges,
holding crumpled cardboard signs, asking for money.
Those who believe themselves above it all, hurry,
to get a greater distance, as though trapped by 
a predator stalking them for their lives,
and as they pass, they never look back,
fear leaves no concern.
Around this corner is a road, lined by old,
crumbling concrete, empty stores, with broken windows.
It's a hollow corner where garbage lays,
some tumbling by the passing cars,
left to stay languishing until the next car passes,
moving it further down the street.
The only building in use is occupied by a liquor store,
that has a blinking sign where only three letters work.
Happier times for this corner never was,
and will never be.
Even the poor stay away from its cold path,
leaving it to slowly decay.
Hope, there is none, only words painted on concrete walls,
that no one will ever read.
Around this corner hides death and those with body bags,
to remove them from a place where those who pass,
are above it all, detached from this world,
concerned only for their hurried lives.
As they pass some leave a couple of dollars,
dropping it into a cold whithered hand,
telling themselves they did a good thing today,
as they move through a world of despair,
around the corner.


contest Around the Corner
10/17/14
Frederic Parker

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