Under a pink sky,
Scooters over sidewalk cracks,
Car radios bumping competing basslines, Fat old men sat on front stoops,
Fresh rolled cigars
Pinched between meaty fingers,
Float up, fade away...
Glisten in orange sunrays.
The smell of fried chicken and car exhaust Hangs heavy in the air.
Thick girls with iPhones
Don’t look up when they’re looked at.
Heat permeates from the concrete,
Raises an acute smell of piss.
Kids on bikes
Pop wheelies, helmetless, limitless...
And the cops don’t care,
Racing by, sirens ablare.
A blizzard of discount furniture coupons Rains down like a ticker-tape parade;
These urban autumnal leaf piles
Get us cheap, pleather futons
Or flat screens with monthly payment plans.
And amidst it all,
A symphony of car horns and bus engines Sings to the people on the sidewalks,
On their fire escapes, on their roofs, Basking in the marvel
Of a world bathed in pink.