Saturday, December 10, 2005
The Sidewalk
THE SIDEWALK - Zevchi – December 2005 - Kfar Saba, Israel
Waiting for the accident to happen.
Warned of imminent catastrophe,
Nobody has the desire to stop.
Seams coming undone
And not only the wearer knows.
Yet the machine that stitched and distributed
Cares not for the user as long as they consume.
It is for the public to worry and despair
About it clothes falling off and being naked.
We grasp for evermore, the cars and the furniture,
New bottles of wines - likely only better locations,
Lively cheeses to tumble into breads
That crumble and remind us of real dilemmas.
We traverse the sidewalks, across the bird droppings
Seemingly implanted in the gray and damp cement,
Which meanders through a toxic park of graffiti laden walls
Stained from mildew and pollution.
The sandbox listlessly awaits children,
But the drunks with their cheap plastic bottles
Anxiously long for those merely visiting the grounds
To exit so they can rest and think about yesterdays – good and bad.
A girl of fifteen talks on her mobile phone
Loudly so others can dutifully listen
And know that she is angry with her friend
Who has disappointed her so, for refusing
A party that will no doubt be awash in drugs and lunatics.
Other paths to the center foam with immigrants
Who do not speak a common language and probably don’t want to.
They come from all the continents and there most remain in their minds.
Discarded newspapers tumble about,
Occasionally a lucky page
Plastered to the pavement via spilled soda and dog urine is read.
On the main street either in rain or sunshine,
There is a stench that does not change in winter or summer.
The printed word makes no difference,
There are too many words nowadays.
Engrossed with hopes,
While dwelling on despair
Faces cannot wash the discontent away,
Nor the absurd style of walking
Stigmatized by not giving way and
Colliding
Without apologies.
Waiting for the accident to happen.
Warned of imminent catastrophe,
Nobody has the desire to stop.
Seams coming undone
And not only the wearer knows.
Yet the machine that stitched and distributed
Cares not for the user as long as they consume.
It is for the public to worry and despair
About it clothes falling off and being naked.
We grasp for evermore, the cars and the furniture,
New bottles of wines - likely only better locations,
Lively cheeses to tumble into breads
That crumble and remind us of real dilemmas.
We traverse the sidewalks, across the bird droppings
Seemingly implanted in the gray and damp cement,
Which meanders through a toxic park of graffiti laden walls
Stained from mildew and pollution.
The sandbox listlessly awaits children,
But the drunks with their cheap plastic bottles
Anxiously long for those merely visiting the grounds
To exit so they can rest and think about yesterdays – good and bad.
A girl of fifteen talks on her mobile phone
Loudly so others can dutifully listen
And know that she is angry with her friend
Who has disappointed her so, for refusing
A party that will no doubt be awash in drugs and lunatics.
Other paths to the center foam with immigrants
Who do not speak a common language and probably don’t want to.
They come from all the continents and there most remain in their minds.
Discarded newspapers tumble about,
Occasionally a lucky page
Plastered to the pavement via spilled soda and dog urine is read.
On the main street either in rain or sunshine,
There is a stench that does not change in winter or summer.
The printed word makes no difference,
There are too many words nowadays.
Engrossed with hopes,
While dwelling on despair
Faces cannot wash the discontent away,
Nor the absurd style of walking
Stigmatized by not giving way and
Colliding
Without apologies.
// posted by Zevchi @ 2:56 PM 
