Gypsy in Traffic

By Irma Dunbi
USA (Washington, DC)

A coiled snake drenched in sunlight,

Dead as a scarf, ready for the purse
Bright striped socks littered on the floor,
The stench of labor, stains of grass,
Green chalk etched on the side walk the color of Mimis eyes,
Her baby breathes to the beat of Beethoven and smells like Maple Syrup,
Soggy waffles drowning in whipped cream embrace each other, wallowing in abandonment,
A half eaten muffin, crumbs stick to the foil,
Boiling tea, wispy steam wines wistfully into the air, escaping the cherry stained kettle,
Chopped fruit surrounded by flies who think they are vultures, let them rest in peace,
Piles of paper cranes dripping in calamity, insanity speaks through a rainbow of hues,
Hundreds of gum pieces sticking to the side walk, a mlange of polka dots, a Jackson Pollack,
Splattered mud seeping through the cracks of torn jeans dripping with the smell of barbeque,
Deep breath, summer is stuck in my nose, the smell of allergies leave,
Leaves popping out of the trees, bursting like break dancers,
Silence engulfs the rows of people praying, heads bowed in unison, bending like blades of grass,
Green means go, but she is busy texting so she cannot see,
Red means stop, but Joey jumbles through, behind him theres a cop,
Yellow, go slow, but that is the sunshine leaking through the clouds in April,
Its May and the traffic light does not work, chaos through the darkness, no traffic guard, just traffic
Its June and Mimis farm house is eaten by weeds, quite the feast for parasites,
The children wore masks of paper mch as they played with marbles, too many contests,
The best mask lost to the sob story, alligator tears bled down his face screaming victory
What a mess of beautiful fools, why do we play cards like ginger gypsies?

R2W Literary Productions