Front Stoop
Quiet.
Solitude.
Sitting on the front stoop
surrounded by darkness.
Stifling.
Suffocating.
cars whiz by, headlights leading them down dark streets.
Skateboarders,
homeless LA residents
all their belongings, their treasures,
buried in the stolen shopping cart
they push from bin to bin
finding meaning in other’s trash.
Cigarette smoke rising from an ashtray
littered with butts,
dirty ashes.
Voices hoarse from lack of use,
scratchy and tired
smoke building up in the lungs.
Shuffled iTunes providing a
melancholy soundtrack
blaring through the mind.
Cold air whipping around
curling around bare toes
icy smoke from the lips indistinguishable
from the emberous tobacco,
mixing together
hot and cold
emptying your insides of warmth.
Solitude.
Sitting on the front stoop
surrounded by darkness.
Stifling.
Suffocating.
cars whiz by, headlights leading them down dark streets.
Skateboarders,
homeless LA residents
all their belongings, their treasures,
buried in the stolen shopping cart
they push from bin to bin
finding meaning in other’s trash.
Cigarette smoke rising from an ashtray
littered with butts,
dirty ashes.
Voices hoarse from lack of use,
scratchy and tired
smoke building up in the lungs.
Shuffled iTunes providing a
melancholy soundtrack
blaring through the mind.
Cold air whipping around
curling around bare toes
icy smoke from the lips indistinguishable
from the emberous tobacco,
mixing together
hot and cold
emptying your insides of warmth.