Diabeteville

An activity for class, had to take a walk up the road and observe our surroundings and turn it into a poem.

It's a fine afternoon

for a stroll in Diabeteville

I have been there before, but with

aged eyes and neglected arteries

perfected ignorance, casting black scars

across the half-assed sky and bleeding spirit away

it's horrible, deadly I think

but anyway, first I have to

light

a

smoke... 

sparrows shooting arrows at my ears through the trees

the trees that have no scent, their beauty lent

with gear-grinding squawks that confirm my fears

as I take a drag and indulge in the poisonous f*g

touche... who cares. 

A cow waddles in front

so blunt, and

with the attire of a million ruffled feathers

Vermilion; the colour of desired authority

I ought to give her a kick in the ovaries

Shut up, b***h

I am well aware that smoking isn't healthy

do I think I emerged from the same ghastly, crusty

cave as yours?

You're not wealthy of potential; God didn't add you to the will

naivete clashing with sensitivity

Queen of no creativity, let me be.

Past the green and onto the grey

fabric worn with a million feet a day

polluted and freckled with gum, if you may;

there is no room for our hearts to play

much to my dismay.

An X-ray clinic? 

money earned on cynical gimmicks

to see inside

the shell of a stranger in danger

I can see perfectly well

the smudge and the bulge

that blurs one's sense of living

and it lies here in Diabeteville.

I see it in the rundown buildings and stores

shameless w****s that beg for open car doors

children with no shoes,

solo parents reeking of booze

never paint over a child's happy hues

don't ever.

I see it in the alcohol store....

it stands out; subliminal beauty

it's become an everyday duty; pour, wine, pour

I stop to inhale the lessening heartache

medicinal brain cell damage, 

heartbreak and ever-mellow mud lake

turn away for your liver's sake

you fool; you're RESPONSIBLE, not fake.

I've seen enough;

on the way back 

the smell of heart attack 

vibrates, disintegrates

flutters away with the dead crunch of leaves

beneath my feet, away with the dust.

I see dozens of colourful school bags for sale,

health centers and pale musicians on crumpled pin-ups

hoping, holding on to save their already-corrupted

....lives, if you must

it's a f*****g joke

there are too many food stores

with oils boiling lethal fanfares and silent wars

I'm growing mentally tired

as I

light

a

smoke...

forget the b***h back there

with nostrils flared, psychotic eyes popped to a jeer

at least there is one fire left in this hole

and it doesn't slide and curve against a dirt pole.

- - -

Off of the grey and into the green

through the gate where a smile can be beamed

I've finished my smoke; and it dies with the steam

Farewell, Diabeteville,

until I need a drink.