I’m trying to paint a picture so real.
A cityscape of life in America.

I spill the paints onto the starched linen
tablecloth and they begin to flow

beneath the wine goblets, the lobster,
and the mock silverware.

My fingers push the paints
into the twisted shapes

of lonely glass buildings
with circular doorways

where the homeless people lay
holding their hungry cardboards

with their hands splayed out
waiting for a lifeline as

passers-by gaze down
the street with vacant eyes

at street vendors with fluorescent
faces and sparkling gold jewelry

selling crack pipes
and tie-dyed t-shirts.

Across the way, the naked
woman walks thigh deep

in the canal while
the fishermen in rowboats

hold tight to their poles
dreaming of catfish

beneath the rainbow moon.
Down on the corner

the sweet smell of barbecued
léchon pours crimson over

the awkward grays of the asphalt
and the raining sky.