Seems everyone

is someone he used to know

and those cinder-ash alleyways

arent worth the while going down again

no  not between the soot-streaked incinerators

their scorched stucco and heat-tortured traps

                                                                 or the slack unspooled wire fences behind them

clinging to odd-fashioned leadpipe stakes

whose heads were mauled flattened and disfigured

forging thin lips that slit unwary or ignorant hands and forearms

wire fences like toothless-gaps between immaculate painted-white picket fences

and no  not between the stern 55 gallon drums stood on concrete blocks for trash and

their brilliant aluminum counterparts whose lids were lucky to survive their first trash

pickup or were stolen by punks (he was one) who flung them like great frisbees into

white-lined blacktop parking lots (idly curious if they would strike parked cars or not) or

heaved into weedy ramshackle vacant lots

                                                                       and ever surprised when a crew suddenly

appeared and bulldozed smashed their trees and crushed their helter skelter makeshift

forts

the rats fled

pieces of his memory died

and no  not between the backyard fruit trees and Victory gardens

the idyllic comport of pinching fresh fruit (often green) or young vegetables

stealthily slipping in to browse like wild animals or inians   and caught (at times) and

punished (always severely) and made evermore keen that certain crimes were worth

suffering their punishment

yes  Seems everyone

is someone he used to know

and he seldomly Now entertained them

they smelled of retreaded tires and tired old routines

the handful of friends he had were plenty

theyd proven their worth

hed proven his

the trick now was surviving down to two

then beating the remaining to the punch

  1749,  Twosday,  29  4. 14