Over the edge, four flights up

I opened the rusted iron gateway

bound in chain and wire, to find a landing

caked in muddied footprints, scattered about like roaches

Magpie shadows course the rain-soaked streets

and puddle patterns reflect temptation as light flickers

from second floor moan filled parlors, painted nails scratching

 

Navigating the fog entrenched alley, garbage bins fallen

create a maze of skinned shins and bloodied lips

when I come to an arched opening, only hinges remain

The staircase up is dark, creaking under my weight

I count the holes collected in plaster walls yawning,

prior frustrations showing no mercy

 

The stench of tar and factory waste wallows,

catching me stumbling through the opening to the roof,

gasping in the ever-thinning air

Dark clouds retaliate for earlier lost days

when stale bread pudding was a treat

served to those of less fortunate standing

 

What life is this to lead anyway, empty pockets

and hand me down promises, watching shadows below

taking chances and knocking up opportunities

Red door, black door, be careful which you choose,

for one color leads to the lower city,

the underground where opium flows like crazed sewage

 

The other holds within sexual fantasies

and red lipstick smudges,

but beware when jiggling those tarnished handles

with your best foolish grin,

the cost is what you can't afford to lose

 

Swine roam the busy square freely,

splurging on last night’s tossed garbage,

grunting approval in an off-key symphony

of stringless digestion, slobbering regurgitation

beyond the blinded eyes of the others

lost indefinitely within themselves

 

Streetlamps spit hot oil through fractured glass

dripping onto the formal evening wear

and diamond brooches worn by the elite,

making their way to the opera house where marble steps

are lined with evergreen topiaries

losing needles to the addicts of the night

 

A carriage passes, glazed eyes peer from lace curtains,

hidden hands roam freely the velvet seats and occupants,

as painted wheels follow ruts in the worn cobblestone

Smoke spews from stained brick chimneys and cracking mortar

discoloring the moon and choking stars

with a filth to be reckoned with

 

I sit on this rooftop alone, looking down,

scarred legs dangling over the edge four flights up,

wondering if anyone would care if I jumped

When startled by a noise behind me, footsteps perhaps

I turn to see the beautiful silhouette of a woman, flowing hair,

hand extended, "I would," she whispers...

Reviews

[Soren]

A well painted picture of choice and the disparity between two sides. The black and white juxtaposition presented in this choice make it more vivid and emotional. We like to think that we always have choice. Nice write

[willweb]

Thanks my friend. I appreciate your thoughts and visit.

[JENNY]

From start till the end I was living in that moment. Epic .

[willweb]

Thank you so much Jenny. I appreciate you taking the time to read and comment on my piece.

[JENNY]

Your most welcome, you deserve it.

[William Michael Reeves]

I felt like I was taken back a couple centuries. Following Jack the Ripper looking for a victim or twisting with Oliver in Dicken's London. Nice ending that begs for a sequel.

[willweb]

Thanks again William. Maybe someday a will write a sequel to this, we will see. I am happy you liked this one and taking the reader back a few centuries was the idea here. It was a blast visiting this era to write.

[Dave Brown]

Marvin Thomas-Cox Flynn wrote a somewhat similar piece, I'm sure he would relate to this fine piece of writing
You have really set the scene especially well with tons of accurate detailing
Excellent write
BTW I wouldn't take her hand, there has to be at least one other reasonable option

[willweb]

Yeah, I guess he could have jumped. : ) Thanks so much. I am glad you enjoyed this one. It was fun to find myself in a setting like this while writing, it is the best way to travel.
I am not familiar with Thomas-Cox Flynn. I will have to look him up. Thanks so much again.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

the lipstick smudges are a good diversion for the one who lives in these circumstances.
You made me picture this old apartment building...and it took me back to NY...
we lived in a five-story walkup on the fifth floor...Old but in pretty good shape...we were so lucky, we had a really big apartment ...and it was in great condition...the building is still there now...and full of tenants.
I was on the rooftop on Sundays...we watched the speedboat races on the Harlem River.
nostalgia grabbed me as I read this.
again, can't believe no comments yet...
j.

[willweb]

Thanks so much Jacob. I pictured many different settings when I wrote this and an old walk up apartment building was one of those settings, though this one was in the slums it seems. I am happy you stopped by, your comments are always very humbling and appreciated.