A view from a pot lot porch

Things I see from the porch of the used car dealership I work at

Sitting atop this pot lot porch I see...

 

Tiny shiny streamers waggling in the wind like spirit fingers,

A shanty motel named quaintly "Aristocrat,"

equppied with all the bells and whistles.

Two blue payphones, a few wheels laced in chrome,

A faceless building, another that could be missing a cieling

A drunk and pompous jerk in a button up shirt,

At the designated center for mental healing

A dumpster with heaps of trash orbiting its borders'

People in search of God, a Job, or "just a couple quarters,"

A couple of gas pumps, weeds polluted by grass lumps

A car full of brainwashed civilians drive by singing "My humps,

my humps, my lovely lovely humps..."

A man heard it and started kicking himself in the head with Nike Pumps,

A food line, one hundred and seventy-two signs, the daily grind

A bustling bar-b-q, some vagabonds in search of the divine,

People with tar melted into the bottom of their heels,

Cars with tar molding to all their wheels,

I see an addict, a bum, a heretic,  bundles of fears

My life's in perspective now because I'm looking in a mirror.