concrete jungle, complete with booby traps

an old poem i wrote about being innebriated and insecure at about 2 am

my world is small today.
it smells of gasoline and dead things.
occasionally the asphault jumps at me
in a raging, drunken stupor.
all of the women wearing their
stupid 4 inch heels are out for a stroll,
attacking the concrete with clicks and clacks;
which causes one to wonder if it isnt
just the sidewalks screaming.
my fears are legion in number,
disorganized regiments of little people
wearing signs that say LAZY, SELFISH, COWARD
and LIAR follow me through the streets.
i want to grab them and crush them
between my hands like oversized grapes.
the urge to do so increases dramatically
with each block that passes, but im unable to
because the little grape soldiers are really
no more than a bad visual representation
of an abstract concept.
im quite certain that steam is shooting
out of my ears at this point.
i will admit to being rather upset,
both because i can do nothing to stop
the parade of personal issues trailing behind me
for all to see, and because im certain
that i look very red in the face, angry as i am.
the clicking and clacking continues in spite
of my troubles and worries;
the sound of the pavement desperately trying
to escape from under the waves
of ignorant designer shoes.

Reviews

[...]

... may you be blessed with many such inebriated and insecure moments ... because your poetry is just out of this world unique, distinct and breath-taking ... lines 10 to 20 ... are to be cherished under a microscope ... this is exotic imagery ... classic black humour at its ravishing best ... riveting ... (what a narrative) ... and never before did i think that the words "ignorant" ... and ... "designer shoes" ... could be in the same line ... and i would be smiling away thinking that i'm lucky i read you for free ... a 100 this time for the "clicking and clacking" ... :) ...