We present this work in honor of the 50th anniversary of the poet’s death.
I took a stroll through Roxbury,
enlightenment was obtained, in a meaningless poetic sense.
Homeless men’s faces shout such agony,
they evoke images of tortured souls in a science fiction movie.
Concrete all perfectly disorganized,
like a tile floor at a government building smashed repeatedly by a disgruntled employee.
Cars rush by like ants in their endless toil,
sky leaks darkness upon artificial attempts to beat nature.
Trash lines the street like flaws litter my character.
Trash trucks come and collect these flaws,
take them out of view, so it doesn’t look dirty.
But although this takes it out of public concern,
the trash has to be taken somewhere.
You can’t just will the trash out of existence,
it has to be allowed to fester and decompose.
That’s why the trucks thake the trash off some forgotten highway,
to let it do it’s time removed from first impressions.
So God bless those trash trucks,
because with out them, there would still be the same amount of trash,
but people would be constantly reminded of what a trashy place this is.