It's Saturday
But every day is Saturday now.
In the block of flats in front of me,
Someone takes up the saxophone,
And demonstrates to the world,
That he doesn't know how to play.
My terracotta brick landscape view,
From the window, from where
I blow smoke into,
The ghost town street below
Only dog owners break the curfew
Of the absent passersby.
Children turn balconies into parks,
As red tape clearly marks out,
The swings and slides below as taboo.
They shout out games of eye spy
From floor to floor, their lungs
Desperate for breaths of fresh air.
At eight o clock, we congregate
In windows to applaud, the health workers,
The doctors, the nurses fighting
(Illness turning healers into soldiers)
Our foe, that keeps us locked in.
That's all we have - symbolism.
YOU ARE READING
My Papi's Mid-life Crisis
RandomI'm forty two and in danger of falling through the cracks of mediocrity; also known as a midlife crisis. I don't drive, so I can't buy a fancy car to fix it. I love my wife, so I can't have an affair with another woman. This book is part of my attem...
