Oblivion Street
Hang a left into Desolation Alley
where the meat-rack girls spin dead on their feet;
take a right onto Cruelty Crescent,
walk a crooked mile on Oblivion Street.
Feast those eyes and gloat your soul
on the life and death tapestry laid in despair;
drink of the torture and fear apparent
on the faces of those who are resident there.
Junk-heads, dope-fiends in cardboard box condos,
skeleton people with wild crimson eyes;
whores and their pimps froze in gangster-like postures
haunting neon lit streets under bruised purple skies.
Keening screams of the housewives whose monkey-brained husbands
leech pleasure from violence and drunken assault;
shout the odds, lay the blame, give the cow what she asked for,
distant sirens kick in like trapped ghosts in a vault.
Bloody kids wiring Volvos then driving like crazy,
glue-filled Golden Wonder bags stuck to their faces;
flip the jack on two wheels then ram-raid a shop front,
it’s Death Race 2000, a day at the races.
Graffiti-sprayed brick where the spelling is suspect,
the one slash of light in a black and grey view;
shouldn’t cut so much school, or at least go to English,
dyslexia strikes paint spray terrorists too.
Nothing adds up or makes sense in this maelstrom,
the crushed bones of youth in the flesh of dead meat;
no serum of reason can cure the awful
relentless great plague on Oblivion Street.
Copyright © Tony Bush | Year Posted 2005
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment