The sun is high
The day is cold
The street is wide
The pavements old
The bricks are cracked
The trees are bare
The walls are stacked
The sirens blare
The people curse
The children cry
And none converse
Or even try
They don’t pay
Attention to
What people say
What people do
The garbage piles
Within the streets
It stinks for miles
Like rotted meats
I don’t know why
But there are some
Who say they like
To call this home
