Once He Wrote
by Odin Roark

How quickly the vanishing,
Where once shone the sun,
Now only skyscraper shade.

Horse drawn wagons
Once parked below tenement smiles
As rope baskets lowered with coins
Returned with apples and grapes.

Knife sharpening push carts,
Their grinding wheels
Ever turning razor sharp edges,
Made cutting cheap meat special.

Tilted fedoras patronizingly tipped
By cashmere-draped gangsters
Greeted numbers-hungry tenants,
While knickers-clad children
Ran their errands for pennies,
Warning shop owners
They needed protection.

Then...

Came post-war-family-building,
Turning wanton streets alive,
Baby strollers passed
Job hungry veterans passing
No Help Wanted signs
In slumlord heaven.

How precarious his street became,
Teetering between shelter and commerce,
Preservation and extinction,
Wrecking ball and obstinacy.

Finally...

Housing Department placed him elsewhere.
Nice, he guessed.
Missed the old stairs though.
Squeaks.
Creaks.
Scrapes.
Sounds and smells,
His special friends.

Now

Seems little comfort is left.
Modern whoosh of elevators,
Whirls of air conditioning,
Frequent ambulance sirens
Stopping below,
Providing the lucky ones
With their last ride.

Boredom no more…

Once he wrote.