What I See

I see things in my day by day grind.

Most things I look for, some not especially so.

All things good and bad are seen by me, that’s what I’ve got eyes for.

2 and 3 year olds playing outside their homes, at 11:00pm in the evening.

Man-boys taking slow walks in the park, shuffling with lids half closed.

Influenced in their step pattern by a pharmaceutical replacement of dignity. 

I see, under the surface, where things crawl and itch and bite.

Thug life, leaning, swaggering, child-men with pants hanging, too large for their butts.

People pass, looking forlornly down or intently ahead, I’m not in your world, nor you in mine so no need to acknowledge your existence, ‘cause you don’t.

Damn.

Papers write headlines, consumers will buy them and believe, as if the tree it’s printed on was not news enough.

Emotional gunshots real and imagined explode, with no outward reaction or sound from the innocent bystanders.

Except for the sound a body makes when it falls to the ground in your path (step up and, over, now go forward again) and its thrashing resists being just a body. 

Life and death, dark and light move in a macabre parody of a waltz all around, yet there is no music, save a faint bass line that you can’t quite place.

Girl-babies, dress themselves as if they are whom they weren’t meant to be, yet the baby girl being pushed in the carriage prevents the truth be told or heard.

Little kids shaken’ their little butts to the beat.

Questioning siblings, larger little kids if this is the way to do it?

Cats meow, rats scurry, roaches crawl.

The moon rises and the sun shines on every dog’s ass at least once in life.

I see things, some good some bad.

That’s what I have eyes for.

I know a little ‘bout what I see, please sir, I’d like to see more.

Charles Hill