Tonight's Poet Corner: Sonnet Solstice #188
This Concrete Jungle
by Belinda Roddie
This concrete jungle is too harsh and cold
for me to stay here, stewing over bad
coffee, old newspapers, a crumbling scone,
counting all the ulcers I've had this week
on one hand. I'm as skeletal as my
aged car, pathetic, rusted in the lot,
waiting for me to take it wheezing back
home so I can watch cable until I
can no longer keep my eyes open. When
I leave the coffee shop, I drop a dime
into a panhandler's cup. He's pissed that
I didn't leave him more. I'm ready to
plant my shoe in his teeth, but then I find
myself remembering God's jaundiced eye.
by Belinda Roddie
This concrete jungle is too harsh and cold
for me to stay here, stewing over bad
coffee, old newspapers, a crumbling scone,
counting all the ulcers I've had this week
on one hand. I'm as skeletal as my
aged car, pathetic, rusted in the lot,
waiting for me to take it wheezing back
home so I can watch cable until I
can no longer keep my eyes open. When
I leave the coffee shop, I drop a dime
into a panhandler's cup. He's pissed that
I didn't leave him more. I'm ready to
plant my shoe in his teeth, but then I find
myself remembering God's jaundiced eye.
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