Here's a poem I've been working on. I'm not trying to "say something" about "the state of the underprivileged in America" or whatever. It's just a series of images that have haunted me lately. Some of the line breaks got messed up by the blog's formatting, but you should get the gist of it.
Steady drone of rain.
Rhythmic slap-slap-slap of sneakers pounding pavement,
accelerating with the heartbeat
of a delinquent.
A degenerate.
A hooligan.
A hoodlum.
A youth.
Pockets full of his prize,
he flees the scene,
reaches an alley,
leaps in,
stops.
Back
[breath]
to the wall,
[breath]
he pants
[breath]
as quietly
[breath]
as possible
[breath]
and waits.
[breath]
[breath]
[breath]
[breath]
He listens.
[breath]
[breath]
[breath]
Nothing.
[breath]
[breath]
He sighs.
[breath]
A noise.
[gasp]
A shout a light a turn a flight into the dark.
Around, over, under, through,
beyond the edges of the map in his mind,
he runs and leaps and trips and falls,
collapsing in a sobbing heap of broken will.
He can no more.
Minutes pass.
Like hours.
He reaches deep into his pocket and withdraws
the score: an apple and a pear.
A bite of each, and exhaustion carries off our troubled teen
to fitful sleep.
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