The city’s built from bones and cartilage; the foundation of its skyline are constipated guts; the soil is saturated with our blood. The city is a beast. When I window-shop for clothes I see, reflected, the vacant eyes of yet a homeless man. Tucked away, his home consists of some discarded blankets and a cardboard mattress; bagged are rags. Between us there’s a wall of language, status, age but we share the city’s wordless fear. The fear of strangers. I watch a passing girl, yet unaware, still blinded by its glitz. who have not seen its jaws. She searches heartbeats in the clubs, but dismisses her own. I scurry for the subway; for safety I hide with you at home.
Behind the tinted glass of a limousine the teenage girl says no.
Today at haibun Monday I host, and I want you to go all contemporary at dVerse. Write about the cityscape. Go gritty. Write about the lack of nature. Just to mark that this is not a traditional haibun (and probably not a haibun at all) I used an American Sentence instead of a haiku.
October 17, 2017