Era

Written about the Great Depression.

They keep watching.
Watching the streets.
Apple sellers beg for a dime.
Young boys have shoes to shine.
I watch the ticking of my city.
It breathes with me.
I feel it in my lungs.
The gears and machines pumping endlessly.
In one end, is the sweat and blood of the citizens.
The product is pure energy.
I lick bits of apple off of my fingers.
Ten of them, fingers I have.
My fingers are grasping the rails on my apartment balcony.
My legs swing below, but above the streets.
The wails of the unemployed echo through the months.
The whispers of dust linger on the sidewalk, coming from the West.
I wipe a streak in it with a nail.
Sometimes I hear music.
It's faint.
It reminds me of a better time.
But now it's knives and broken glass.
Remainders of a breaking city.
Who is left to repair her?

Author's Note

With such an emphasis of the Great Depression in school, I thought I'd write a poem about it.

Reviews

[Bella-Marie]

That's so beautiful and you wrote it in such a fantastic way. Some bits even rhymed which I loved. It flowed beautifully.