Where They Called Home

Crusty forgotten plastic grocery bags
swirl in their urban peregrinations
hovering in hot vehicular storms
of jet lagged bus drivers raring to go
from one grime encrusted bodega
to the next
and the next
and when they return to where they called home,
dirt lots succumbing to steel fortresses
orientalized with brick confections
undergirded by concrete weaponry,
the UPS man mounts his steaming truck,
with icy eyes; a megaphone in hand
to incite idle Dickensian masses
for the sake of imperishable truth
or just getting from point A to point B
for he has forsaken the fate cast to him
when dirt was tolerated, part of life.

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