SLAM!

Bizz-buzz, bizz-buzz
the sounds of the highway,
lungs of the city,
congested with flu,
waiting for sweet release of a
hack-cough of traffic
who emigrate to the veins,
to the alleys, to the one-way streets
as skyscrapers turn up their noses
at the stench of decay in the inner-city
a mish-mold, mish-mold;
a melting pot of dialects and faces
as Prissy Penny and Stuck-up Steve
in their prissy garments and stuck up weave
wait for the change of the streetlight
like they wait for the change at their coffee shop;
impatience ebbing from cell phone unaware glares
and ignore the beggar on the corner
who only wants a dime,
a cling-clang, cling-clang
of change in his cup
to buy food for his family
to get the taste of poverty out of their mouths
and into their memories.
But cars zip-zang by on the interstate
with angry yells of drivers who cut each other off
and flip each other off
and don’t let each other off.
Who honk their horns and let slow drivers
dictate the way they fire their staff
as corporate conglomerates congregate
on the stock market floor to celebrate an overtake,
lost in the buy-sell, buy-sell
of men who push and shove and shove and push
to make their way to the top
so they can buy Jacuzzis and shiatsus and a ficus
for their wives who’ve had their noses done
and their breasts done and their cheeks done and their souls done;
an endless tale of mice and men and men’s vanity
as they’re forced to live in the huff-puff, huff-puff of the city.

Dummysayswhat. What?

I feel like a Koala crapped a rainbow
in my brain. -Murphy, Sealab 2021
"Poetry"