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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Written: February 26, 2025, for Antony Biaanco Contest ************************* City hum drifts through spurious ways, teeming in a wild, woody ward. The jasmine vine twists down to a jagged sill for a moment before sinking into a cool, katabatic pit. Early rush-hour sounds—farts and snorts— cram the air, moments blending into the drive-by without a stroll, as rain-soaked, worn stone slabs Mark the corner store— where you used to grab milk, soap, or other staples. The chill of an icy night— gives way to a sun-kissed morning glow. Sitting at my desk, chatting on the phone, canceling appointments for the boss. He’s staying a little longer in Honolulu, musing over which states— the neighbors moved to. Do they remember how crabgrass took over? The streets are empty except— for a fridge that somehow made it to the avenue, lingering there, its story is low and uncertain. Does this questionable life count? We can’t amend it, it won’t yield precious plums, only a mournful structure, shadows lurking, and worn trousers that tell tales. The horizon lies obscured— by haphazard highways, stretching into stark, barren spaces, where even the flowers have wilted. Countless scorched dreams, strained savings, and buried letters— linger in forgotten corners. The fire hydrant no longer cries out for the world. "Honky Chateau" continues to compel— as it meanders the sporadic streets, streets cloaked in anonymity— and emptied of life. The dwindling dirge of a forsaken place hangs heavily, with dreams dangling— in line for food stamps and community cheese. Buildings shatter, splinter, and crumble— crashing, crushing, collapsing submerged with rivers of fire within. Crisis tamed, calamity curtailed, the police stroll in pairs, collecting discarded shopping carts. Dust gently falls— as yesterday's laments hush the pigeons to sleep, mold mingling with the memory— of barbecued ribs, those hardened bones left since last year.
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