Down
on Capitol
Riding down the street,
The cracked and crooked concrete,
I see the weary shopkeepers,
Peddling their meager wares
In barred and bulletproof fortresses.
Along the string of broken homes,
Battered, shattered palaces,
Filled with long-forgotten dreamers;
An endless avenue of poverty,
Decaying after decades…
Passing through this boulevard,
The only luxurious place I see,
Is a home where the newly departed
Can find a place to sleep.
