Detroit: Pt. 2

I'm on Spring Break for the next 10 days or so.  That means I'll be slaving to get up to my "post-a-day" quota that's been neglected since early January.  Whatever I can write:  reviews, journalism, non-fiction, poetry, smoke-long stories, etc.  I've got to get back to the idea of using this blog as a practice tool.


Mogtaba Shirdel


Thirty-three times once more
beads slip through your fingers
a startling, worn red
on the calloused, yellow fingers

Yellow like the  books,
album covers that surround you.
Yellowed phones will never ring.
On the wall, it never rings.

This used to be your city.
This used to be your home.
This used to be a place that paid you rent.


Thirty-three times once more
Beads slipped through your fingers.
a startling, fresh red
against the latest paint on your walls.

Scents, so clean and new
In each home you created
Soon filled with life, with people
Soon killed by life, by people.

This was truly your city.
This was truly your home.
This was truly a place that paid.


Thirty-three times once more
Beads are slipping through your fingers.
a startling, worn red
against the dust-brown of the floor

 Kicked up by your shoes
 Bells ring against the door.
Someone's come in, only one today.
Someone's come in, you're not alone today.  

This is your city.
This is your home.  
This is where you pay your rent.




Check out where the subject came from at detroitblog.org