Concrete jungle

by Maria Gornell

Wishy washy streets
concrete towers
stalking my dreams
dismal and drab
dreary and destitute
This is the place
where I grew up;
single mothers
strong and determined,
fathers absent
children in a
digital world.
Destroyer of souls
dangerous to be
old.
smoke infested
lung cancer looms
a life in ruins.
alcohol booms.
An underclass looms..
No fondness for
this place
in fields i used
to roam;
youths on the
back seat
of the bus
don't make a fuss
smell of skunk in
the air
and they just stare
filth on the
windows
numb now
to this place.
old man weary
tattered and dirty
eyes speak of
utter despair.
this is the place
where i grew up
only the gangsters
making a buck,
wasted talent
forgotten dreams
and i just stare
no longer care
I don't want to
die in this
forgotten world..