Whose City? Our City!

City of fog
City of movement
City in labor pains that linger
In contradictive contractions
City of exiled throats holding notes
Of blaring fog horns
And bloated corks buoyed in currency
City of leaning flowers and pendulums
And clock faces and the aroma of epitaphs
Moving in all directions
City of no left turn no right turn no re turn
City where green means stop and red
Means go and yellow is a flame on the
Tip of your mind
City of baguettes and batons
City born and raised from the dead
City of vindictive Victorians and lorgnette eyes
City of flat screens and flat minds
And poets whose eyes create spheres within
The creases ready to blossom
City of gold tainted moths feasting on the
Tongue’s flesh
City where the humble are stuffed into thimbles
City where every feast is a plot luck
City of wine and sorrows

City of swine and marrow
City where the blade plays by ear
And ants migrate up the arm and into the mind
City of webs and spokes
And shopping carts whose wheels derail and drag
In the backdrop of rolling hills
City where Jesus is nailed to a sub minimum wage cross
And Indios carry the corpses of dreams
City of tendons and tensions stretched taut between
Bridges while ambulance chasers cross and crab nets
Sit patiently beneath the current
City of climate changes and mood swings and puzzles
With missing pieces
City of raised fists
And the falling tones of church bells
And stones thrown
Into the silence of water
City of shelters and seagulls flying
Off the edge
City of fog

Whose city?

Our city

© 2018 Tony Robles



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