Читать книгу Other Seasons - Harold J. Recinos - Страница 25

the street I walked to school was

dense with old buildings without a single

tree planted in front, liquor stores were

on every other block, and winos who sang

ABC’S out loud for school kids to hear. on the

way, I wondered why tourists never strolled down

this street taking pictures of unemployed vets who

questioned after hammering tiny countries down

coming back to sit on sidewalks drinking cheap

wine and pledging allegiance with their slurring

tongues. at the school, teachers pushed smiles to

lips but never heard a story from a neighborhood

resident louder than a foolish whim. I never could

imagine why our different voices were so routinely

drowned—perhaps, you will tell me?