Freeform Friday: And Sometimes, It Rains

And Sometimes, It Rains
by Belinda Roddie

Good neighbors
serve stale sweets
We make ends meet
on dead end streets

The street lamp has flickered
for five years. We still
haven't figured out its Morse code -
not yet, anyway.
And no one will fix it.

Some say
ghosts have set up shop there.

And perhaps
they sell candles
with just the hint
of a cinnamon scent.

Outside what was once
a jazz café,
a busker plays
His violin has seen
way better days

Two coins in his snapback. That's it.

The drunken keyboardist
at the BART station
makes way more.
Would someone tell him
to play something other than,
"Chopsticks," please?

He doesn't know chords
or personal accord
of any kind

Hey, got a light?
Nah, man. Haven't seen light
since she left.
Damn, we got a new Edgar Allan Poe
over here! Okay, raven boy,
do you got a fucking light?

The bakery's still open
but it's always cold
and the bread's always stale
and the owner's eyes are always
filled with fog

Nothing sounds right anymore.