home

Poetry

Broadway

the Broadway Strip...

where the young couples in leather stroll hand in hand on a cool Saturday evening...
where teenage panhandlers accost passers-by at every step in ragged, earnest supplication for a warm meal...
where the shameless lights of abundance shine garishly into the dark Seattle night, beckoning, beckoning...
where windows stuffed with the objects of desire taunt the perpetually unsated eyes of empty rich souls...
where the sidewalks bleed the chalk of desperate lone prophets screaming in hoarse voices about prisons and profits and greed...
where columns of 1 a.m. clubbers form three-thick outside Dick's on weekend nights late...
where studs and snake boots promenade their indifference to other snake boots who will listen...
where hearts devoid of hope find solace in confrontation...
where juvenile Seattle grates in the layer beneath, unable to grow, unable to cry, unable to wait any more but doing nothing but waiting...