[Poetry] Motorhome with no destination

For Buffy Gomez 

Two lovers on a crumbling orange moon gazed at Heaven for hours while the sky painted the stars the color of Fog. Two dogs barked their grievances to the world of closed eyes and mouths, knowing glances on the subway that seem more than curious. The gas tank is almost empty, the cops are going to run people off just when one takes a breath and the pavement is gentle. Just when the parking space is quiet, a cop or meter maid, tight-lipped and grim, starts knocking at the door, the dogs start barking, and the kids howl their regret at being found out and it’s time to go. But we are just people trying to get by. This city, the clenched jaws of a jackel with glittering eyes of fool’s gold, turn its back on the citizens who need help the most.

In church, I learned that money has replaced God , and there are no refunds.

They welcome the racist zombies who come here with their blanket of averageness and their mind-numble dribble of changing of the world. Every human is changing the world, no matter how minute or small, by moving forward throughout the universe. Ants die, babies are born, people blink.

Someone’s knocking at the door. The two dogs start barking. And the swollen faces on the subway, big like sunflowers in the fall, their expressions telling not a story because their devotion is for a device, not a person.

Someone’s knocking at the door. It’s a cop. Now we might get shot!

Don’t even blink. Don’t even breathe. Someone’s wheezing. Someone’s screaming. People are dying. My city is gone. It’s not there anymore.