Downtown, Saturday Afternoon

Two fifteen; it's hotter than hell, and I'm
Dragging my ass down a sidewalk on
Second. I look into windows at clothes
Which cost more than I make in a week,
And at people who'll buy them. They
Live in a world close-by, but not near,
Behind shiny, locked doors, beyond
Palm-dotted lobbies. They live, as
They show with their dismissive faces,
Somewhere far above me. They'd
Shoo me away if I entered their
Dreamland, all sweaty and bent,
And asked, “How do you like
What I made?”



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 18 times
Written on 2013-08-27 at 13:18

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