Friday, May 17, 2013

4403. A MILLION CHANCES FOR FORTITUDE

A MILLION CHANCES
FOR FORTITUDE
The slow creep of a nascent wind makes its way
past barrels and pallets. In this old yard of not
much there seems a designated feeling for every
plight : the orphan kid is crying, the old lady bends
over her cart, that pusher guy, or whatever, over the
little fence, is up to something foul. The locals have
even tried to grow a small 4th Street Garden here  -
a poor community fence, the amplitude of a broken
gate, and a few stones placed in the dirt to walk upon.
Everything is characteristically noble, yet dull. The
words I hear are fast, the syllables crackling, and the
tongue from a distant land. The lower land, of sunlight
and creep, seems always present : Spanish lace and
someone's forgotten mantilla. And, over in the corner,
some arty punk is painting a madonna on the wall.
-
I haven't the real energy to catch a corpse or steal
a cadaver. Let the dead bury the dead, and all that
stuff. Some guys peruses The Daily News for the
sports page stuff  -  hitters and winners and losers.
The story lines are always the same  -  graft, greed
corruption, sex, money death and  -  its better oasis -
hope; where salvation lies, anyway  - Hope.
-
I pass the poorbox at St. Ignatius' Church  -  the little red
candle-light is glowing. Next to it, the three girls of love,
at the bar, are sitting outside telling me their names :
Love, Lust, and Luck. All ladies, they claim to be.

No comments: