I remember walking through a
neighborhood
built for families that don't exist.
Homes, a pool, and a clubhouse,
it had everything; but, as I walked
down the asphalt streets full of weeds
and dying flowers, I saw vacant dreams.
The musty houses had
busted windows,
vines suffocated white pillars,
and walls held roofs
meant to shelter young heads.
The pool had water so unclean
it appeared to be dying of gangrene.
Mortal just like the rest of the houseless
on the streets that night.
I turned the corner to see graffiti
all over the clubhouse wall.
BROKEN
sprayed in blue-truer words
have never been spoken.
That all of this could be constructed
and yet obstructed from view is a path
blazed by so few that we can waste
these resources, while the streets of the
city are lined with drug addicts
and the rotting corpses of people
that could have slept in neighborhoods
just like this.
