City Skin

Someone fell and
Skinned their
Knee

Some poor soul
Twisted their
Ankle while marching
In a protest

I’ve walked the
Streets, back and
Forth, forth and back

I’ve paced, stomped,
Slipped, slid and tripped
Over various streets with
Various names

I’ve even stubbed
My little toe

I’ve have mistaken
Manhole covers for
Aztec calendars

And the streets
Are a tapestry
An insistent stitching
Of

Frowns
Fissures
Arteries
Carvings

Canals cut
Into palms

A spiritual
Gulf for alms
Given

And lives
Taken

These sutured
Streets

Ours

© 2016 Tony Robles

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