Freedom (A Poem for Day Twelve of PAD)

For today’s prompt (day twelve), write a lament poem. Maybe you lament a relationship or a missed opportunity. Or maybe it’s that doughnut (maybe speaking from personal experience). Whatever it is, today is the day to let it all out–in poem form, of course.

Your Money or Your Life

Freedom

The citizens lamented
something had gone
terribly wrong but couldn’t
quite put their finger on it.

Darren said the local
discount stores had gone
out of business,
and the water commission
had made new provisions
of sprinkling only on
Tuesdays, three to five.

Johnny added that records
showed little Theresa’s
mother failed to pay,
had her daughter’s
hot lunch taken away.
 
Beth repeated evening news—
commuters on downtown
streets would soon
be tolled; and later,
those just out for a stroll
would pay to cruise
city sidewalks.  

The lunch bell rang
and off they hoofed
back to their stalls
where bosses
monitored every call
and email they received
and sent. After all,

they were being paid
for those jobs,
and those in charge
needed assurance
they were worth
every cent.

*****

[Please note that all prompts have been copied from the Writer's Digest Poetic Asides website.]

Fragments of City Life (a Poem for Day Twelve of PAD)

It's just after noon and I am posting my poem! I'm proud of myself for writing it early.

The opening line in the last two stanzas starts, "In this city" as opposed to the first three stanzas where it says, "In the city." This is intentional; those last two stanzas are more personal to me.

Day Twelve's PAD prompt:

"For today’s prompt, write a city poem. The poem can take place in a city, can remember the city (in a general sense), be an ode to a specific city, or well, you should know the drill by now. City poem: Write it!"

You Can't Tell from Looking

Fragments of City Life

In the city, tire treads resemble rattlesnakes,
and sun-dried flags look like old crows
guarding four-way stops, inspiration’s
pushed out by three-piece suited
headaches, blood tied up in veins
of yesterday’s dreams.

In the city, where death hides inside
bedside tables and youth has turned
to old age overnight, princes
ride in on motorized
scooters, skin sandpapered smooth
under a doctor’s exam light.

In the city, her favorite loose linen pants
have thinned in the rear and a rope of threads
at her toe flops with every step. Houses
line the streets like cubicles where fences
are so flimsy neighbors can smell
last night’s macaroni on your breath.

In this city, where the dusty road to magazine
canyon is littered with “dumping prohibited”
signs, a tickle turns into a lump
you can’t swallow away just as night
turns into a never-ending day. And days turn
into years to the power of ten.

In this city, a daughter hugs someone tight
until his light goes out; father dies while the rest
of the world is sleeping. Mother and daughter
kneel beside him, kitchen shears in hand,
snipping stranded samples to tuck away
with his ashes now smudged on crumbling decay.

*****