ROTTEN APPLE

Raging winds ran the streets

like wolves in search of unsuspecting

prey. Hats took flight. Garbage can lids

spiraled like runaway Olympic discus’.

Newspapers trashed the sky with yesterdays

sales and obituaries. Hats tumbled like

children on the last day of school. Down

7th avenue a gust of random winds

created the sound of trains jumping

their tracks. Steam pipe exhaust leaned

without relief. Empty cigarette packs,

candy wrappers and laundry receipts took

flight without lessons. The song of winds

beat against windows and tugged at doors,

pushing men and terrorizing women.

 

Sometimes the city is a rotten apple.

 

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