If there was ever a Parallel Parking Olympics
it’d be in South Philly
cars jam into microscopic spots
enough to cause anxiety
but you, with your back-up camera
squeeze in like it’s no big deal
this shit is real!
parking spots are like gold
circle the block like a vulture
starving, on the prowl
maybe you’ll get lucky
find a spot front-and-center
(Photo by Cali Riffee on Unsplash)
Cindy parked her work truck in the shade by a McDonald’s and took a big bite out of her Quarter Pounder. Her lunch breaks were always interrupted by phone calls — the endless calls from dispatchers. Today was no different.
When her phone rang, she turned down the Brad Paisely song on her radio.
“Hey, sunshine,” said Marcus, the dispatcher. “Feel like catching any more dogs today?”
It wasn’t the call Cindy wanted to get. But at least it wasn’t the call, the one she constantly feared getting.
Continue readingWho is behind the curtain?
Is Portia a super-intelligent AI autocrat –
or is there a murkier figure behind her avatar
hidden in dank data centers of Techno-City?
Continue readingHistory is collective memory, and it’s always subject to correction.
It’s written by winners, whether daughters of despots or democrats. They build bronze statues that inform us of what happened, who’s calling the shots, who owns the space you occupy.
As the city convulses, an ex-mayor’s monument is fractured, beat to the ground. Our historical texts must be rewritten, newspaper editors must be removed, the revolution must be televised and live streamed to your social media feeds, and you must forget what you’ve learned because
there are new facts.
(Photo by The New York Public Library on Unsplash)
The faceless woman chases me through vacant city streets –
lights on in every home, but no one’s there,
just us, running in dreadful silence
my heart beats so fast it feels as if it’ll burst
from my sunken chest, plop on black concrete +
continue to beat to the rhythm of the pulsing ground,
as a brilliant moon looms above, hangs over us,
shines blinding light on my ghostly skin –
I’m living in sin + if the woman catches me,
I’ll surely suffocate + gurgle black blood
from a wicked mouth –
No! my mouth is gone, covered by slimy skin,
+ I’m gone, in her cold grasp at last,
the world collapses inside of me +
I wake as a newborn in some
distant jungle landscape.
(Photo by Gabriel on Unsplash)
Who said this was the Land of the Free?
They must’ve been joking, because since them days,
there have been slaves, and even when the chains
broke, the Klan came from dark woods in hoods
and burned crosses – fires crackling in fields,
reflecting in frightened eyes.
Continue readingWhy does this city feel like a living thing?
It’s like the people teeming from buildings are all
part of an organism, and the endless concrete breathes
and coughs up dust that suspends in hot air.
Continue readingThank you for helping me escape from the nightmare –
I thought I’d never be free from the cold cell in my mind,
where the warden stood silent outside – where yellow-eyed
rats scurried from dark corners and ate my supper – where
every day was a dark winter’s afternoon, and drifts of cold air
blew through barred windows, and I shivered in rags on the
dirt floor. Thank you: I have my freedom now, and I will march
the city streets, demanding freedom for the others, the ones
also imprisoned by the nightmare.
(Photo by Ashim D’Silva on Unsplash)
Writer of children's literature, short stories and poetry
Experiments in Creative Writing, and more ....
Daily motivational quotes. Motivation and inspiration for everyone :)
Healthy Eats & Tasty Treats
Running, Writing, Real Life Experiences & Relatable Content.
Eat Healthy Stay Happy
The Search for the Ultimate Riff
Mental Health Poetry / Posts That Help Myself And Others
Original poetry | Poem is me
Poets Pub
