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- Story Listed as: True Life For Adults
- Theme: Drama / Human Interest
- Subject: Community / Home
- Published: 10/02/2012
CHIMNEY FIELDS
Back when Gerald Ford
told the big apple to drop dead
thus closing the book
on free healthcare
for the citizens
of the five boroughs
during the simmering summer of Sam,
the best thing I liked about the lower eastside,
besides seeing my old high school mates
and making it with club chicks on the roof
in the shadows of the trade center's twin towers,
was the arrival in Manhattan by train.
Rolling north from Philadelphia
Jersey laid grieved and stricken
of even a passing resemblance
to what was once a green land.
Like a long and thick dead wire
the smog was strung out
like a disposed of necklace
the beads hung by their necks
on noxious smokestacks
stitched to the barrens
looming over worn out
weather beaten warehouses,
brooding broken window hulks
vacantly gawking at gulls
dodging steam shovels
on trash swollen dumps.
Auto fumes and factory plumes
veiled the dusky air
smudging the New York skyline
into a vaguely graying gloom.
The grimy grease smeared glass
contained the pollution
and silenced the din
as I sat comfortably
in an air conditioned Pullman
three rows to the rear
of the wet bar
crowding as we neared
the end of the line.
At Penn station
we spilled into a cacophonic blend
of the rich and the deprived
the depraved and the holy
before I saw Evan
leaning by a lemonade stand
quizzical and alone.
I shuffled against shoulders
pushing in his direction
through the underground mix
of sewage,
saviors,
sin and almost true grit.
By L DOUGLAS ST OURS May 2010
CHIMNEY FIELDS(L DOUGLAS ST OURS)
CHIMNEY FIELDS
Back when Gerald Ford
told the big apple to drop dead
thus closing the book
on free healthcare
for the citizens
of the five boroughs
during the simmering summer of Sam,
the best thing I liked about the lower eastside,
besides seeing my old high school mates
and making it with club chicks on the roof
in the shadows of the trade center's twin towers,
was the arrival in Manhattan by train.
Rolling north from Philadelphia
Jersey laid grieved and stricken
of even a passing resemblance
to what was once a green land.
Like a long and thick dead wire
the smog was strung out
like a disposed of necklace
the beads hung by their necks
on noxious smokestacks
stitched to the barrens
looming over worn out
weather beaten warehouses,
brooding broken window hulks
vacantly gawking at gulls
dodging steam shovels
on trash swollen dumps.
Auto fumes and factory plumes
veiled the dusky air
smudging the New York skyline
into a vaguely graying gloom.
The grimy grease smeared glass
contained the pollution
and silenced the din
as I sat comfortably
in an air conditioned Pullman
three rows to the rear
of the wet bar
crowding as we neared
the end of the line.
At Penn station
we spilled into a cacophonic blend
of the rich and the deprived
the depraved and the holy
before I saw Evan
leaning by a lemonade stand
quizzical and alone.
I shuffled against shoulders
pushing in his direction
through the underground mix
of sewage,
saviors,
sin and almost true grit.
By L DOUGLAS ST OURS May 2010
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