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a poem by William Taylor, Jr.
To Escape the Heavy Sky
An afternoon so empty
it may as well not exist
all the sirens wailing
like sad Tenderloin whores
the people on the street
reeling from the hammerblows
of the day
as the billboards stare down
like prison guards
and death is the pock-marked pimp
staggering down Market street
blind drunk swiping
at random passersby
death is driving every cab
and pushing every shopping cart
disguised as blank faced tourists
on double-decker busses
and you go underground
to escape the heavy sky
but death is the mean-faced cop
on the subway car
he's coming your way
and your transfer's long expired.
it may as well not exist
like sad Tenderloin whores
reeling from the hammerblows
of the day
like prison guards
staggering down Market street
blind drunk swiping
at random passersby
and pushing every shopping cart
on double-decker busses
to escape the heavy sky
on the subway car
he's coming your way
and your transfer's long expired.
© by William Taylor, Jr.
Gutter Eloquence Magazine ~ Issue #18 ~ November 2011