...And so the rain begins, invoking in the air, a deep
earthen smell. The few scraggly trees in the unmowed yards
of houses badly in the need of paint are ruffled by the wind.
A gentle wind like the hands of a fine blond friend of mine.
And dark spots appear on the cracked pavement. This dead
cement snake, covered with oil spots that now resemble wet
rainbows. A neighborhood back before the days of required
sidewalks and underground phone lines and tv antennas. A
neighborhood buried in a forest of tv antennas and telephone
poles dotted with signs from garage sales long past and
missing pets long gone. Looking around, the old outshines
the new except for the extra large city provided garbage cans
for which I am supposed to be grateful and the occasional
nice car that some unknown couple has saved for for years and
now this fine car puts the house to shame and they are forced
to park several houses up or down the street for fear of
embarrassment. Many a driveway covered with broken cardboard
boxes from the attempted moves or metal bits and plastic from
the car he promised he
d fix and get out of the driveway.
Not even a community. I sure as hell don
t know my neighbors
names and lives. It
s not a hell though, just obsolete and