shambles of her dream

hindi cabbies and hotel hustlers:
some are kind and some are not
but all are primed to service
those who fester in the cracks
on the sidewalks of the system
behind faded jeans and linens,
their tank tops left in tubs
and tubes of toothpaste folded.

jaded maids from Mexico,
swindling diamonds on the fly
and powdered potions left
in plastic veils behind.
hookers cross State lines.
they barge in where southern starlets fear to knock
and steinways lust for lack of jazz|
and Steinbeck reigns supreme.

Rio’s razors shining,
chiming, chopping, chirping:
as a mating call to wayfarers
bound with bolder common bonds
than lifelong matches might ignite
in flames of love and marriage.

Sin City cons and convicts,
skipping carriages of crystal,
jumping spooky trains of stardust,
deftly drifting, slipping, sliding…
glamorously gliding
in the space of In-Between,
too uneasy to be cozy,
yet too cozy for a turnaround,
too lonely to be lively
and to deadly for a comeback.

Mafioso Mother Mary
from the village in the hills,
hovers over remnants
of the warmth of families past,
hurling cheers upon the Islanders
so hearty and so stout,
they who forged this molten melting pot
and wrought upon Amerika
the shambles of her dream

Copyright © 2009 by Andy Pope