A poem by Otto Dusquene

Streets

the streets bored,

are spaces only occupied,

but who occupies isn’t really there,

these people don’t know what to do

with their lifes,

are flies in the web of destiny

they have no clear purpose,

and live only for their dogs, cats,

their ordinary families,

for THINGS

worse than the streets are the homes,

BOB’s fat woman,

WILBURN’s nymphomaniac wife,

SMITH’s brainless son

really,

the streets bored,

but the houses are failing apart

and we’re all indifferent to this,

maybe already part of the landscape