II. A GAME OF STREETBALL

The park benches empty, like stadium bleachers,
Glowered against the graffiti, where broken glass
Strewn over aged, upheaved, uneven asphalt
From which dandelions interject
(Others weave their stems into the chainlink)
Shamed the bling worn albatross-style,
Flung shards of catchlights into black eyes
Sunk deep in faces of expressive poverty;
In tiny zip-locks and capped syringes
Unchecked, lurked their cheap designer drugs,
Snorted, smoked, or injected - calmed, clarified
And doused the senses in nothingness, stilled by the fix
That coursed through the bloodstream, then succeeded
In flattening the higher brain functions,
Hung smog of vacancy behind lacquered eyes,
Stirring the pattern on blooming eyelids.

08/25/2006

Author's Note: Modeled after lines 87-93 of T.S. Eliot's "The Wasteland"

Posted on 08/25/2006
Copyright © 2025 Lacy D Phillips