dmseay

“I’m walkin here. I’m walkin here.”

To the drivers of the Lincoln Urban Assault Vehicles…the Range Rovers…the smarty Smart Cars my ex wife finds to be cute….I’m watching you.

Forcing cripples to move faster, old yentas to curse, and fat vagabonds second thoughts upon actions committed; a crosswalk is a crosswalk.

Swerving around turnabouts on Park, tight corners in the lower East side; maniacal driving on side streets as if in Paris….no one dares.

My message is clear. I weigh 300 pounds, disheveled hair, always foaming at the mouth when yelling out loud for a kingdom long gone……

I’m watching you.

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Quiet. No talking, nor gestures; just quiet.

It is a silence that keeps waking me; no gunshots, no sirens, no blaring bass from an SUV; just a nauseating nothing.

This will change soon….it always does.

And, then what? A constant noise, never-ending, always a beat, a rhythm; forcing one to always be on the lookout as cops drive by and boys in skirts apply their trades.

Quiet. It is too quiet.
Don’t get used to it.

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from the Ohio River to the Hudson…accents change..landscapes differ..Christmas trees in Wheeling windows… artificially colored in reds..greens.. whites..glistening strands of silver slivers dance in the day break.

at the Greyhound station in Pittsburgh.. a black kid sagging points toy guns at real life figures on a screen…one dead..two dead..a mass killing while a television show called Pittsburgh Lives explores the question,How white are your teeth?..

“Damn, that mother fucker be dead,” the kid rejoices while two white chicks with tanning bed tans pitch The Power Swab…look at the shine on those chompers.

the PA Turnpike keeps going and going..stops at service islands and small towns…paler than pale zombies walk the streets picking up sugar packets and burnt out butts. “You gotta dollar?”…

and New York comes into view…57,000 homeless reported..add another 20 grand.. 

Elmo poses for pictures in Times Square…selfies snapped in seconds by the celebrated youth of today…the smartest generation our country’s seen.. they say.

in bar windows shifting pictures of bodies on stretchers and endless words scrolling underneath… you cannot help but look-on.

i’m reminded of the old Reagan campaign ad, “It’s morning in America again.”
it is mourning indeed.

and I walked down Halsted at four in the morning…past bars.. taverns spilling out toxins onto the sidewalks… smells of stale beer and bad colognes…

broads who scored big with men of their dreams…stockbrokers..pharmaceutical reps..a  young turk with an idea of how to make millions… they go for that sort of thing…

Mexican joints filled with sweat..farts.. free chips and salsa devoured by youth while an old fat man mutters in Spanish… packing burritos with asada, carnitas, and grilled pollo…plates painted of various colors left behind…

busses go by…cabs dart north and south while Chicago Sanitation crews begin cleaning a city that no longer works..lying in limbo.. waiting for orders from downtown that never come…

the poor ask for money… beggars begging under a sign that reads, “FRESH KILLED LAMB”… crucified out in these streets for the whores..junkies.. crackheads..drunks..crazies madly talking to parking meters… crying out for salvation.. hoping to be heard…listened to…

kept walking…just kept walking…

men and women…some criminally insane… others with different agendas… paced up and down the psych ward hallway at Bellevue.

this Dominican was my roommate…missing an arm and a leg…jumped in front of a 6 train heading for the Bronx.

he said, I’m trying out for the Yankees this year… you think I got a shot?…

shrugged a shoulder, you got just as good a chance as I do…

i wasn’t gonna ruin his day.

Rich autumnal  colors bring memories of you.

An algae covered bell accents the picture; a tiered fence between us.

It is Indian Summer in November; the dying never looked so good.

seated at the counter of an all – night diner drinking coffee..cockroach strolled by…said hello…kept walking…

A waitress wearing a tight black tee…pair of pants accentuating peaks and valleys… made her way down to my deal…pot in hand with a smile and a shake…

Ya want anything else sugar, laid down a check… a smiley face on the flipside.

Yes, said I’d take a slice of cherry pie…lonely slivers spun ’round and ’round…called out to be taken.

she fixed up a piece real nice…dolloped with whipped cream… a lite crust with a hint of butter to it…just like ma used to make.

more pie?…,a swing of thick hips and coffee poured…smile and a wink…

no…full…,cleavage hung over a grainy texture…brown burns of cigarettes past… splotch of dried catsup…

So…nothing?..,a pout…little flirting…shook my head, just more coffee and cream..

’bout some of my pie?.. uh…how ’bout it sugar…

a swig of joe… scrape of the plate…couple of bills neatly placed at the alter…was time.

you take care honey…. Happy Thanksgiving…,Aphrodite wished me the same as I walked out into a chill… thinking of an offer I shouldnt’ve refused…