Monday, April 9, 2018

Quarter Life Poems: City Monsters

City Monsters


She walks through bursts of fog
the dragons breath of a dreary morning
her jacket drags along the rain soaked sidewalk
and the mossy cloth soaks up
the stale rain water.
All around her, steam rises from the shimmering streets
back toward the sky and sun.

Alley cats emerge from their crooked corners
and follow her
their rough cat paws
press against the dirt and grime
of soiled city streets.

She walks past a chain link fence
crowned with metal thorns
The fence protects an abandoned lot
overgrown by flowering weeds-
silk blooms in pastel
petals the various shades of sunburn skin.

Among the flowers are three silver monsters
the size of hurricanes,
the size of a pea underneath a stack of mattresses.
They graze on buds and blossoms
like gleaming-eyed cows on hill tops
causally chewing on overgrown grass.

The alley cats see the monsters
their eyes grow round
their pupils expand like a sunrise
they hiss and spit
and their bony backs bristle with raised fur

The silver monsters shimmy over
their bodies oscillate like a lazy wave
they uncoil their long tongues
and flick them at the angry cats.

But the gray clouds return
and the rain falls again
the monsters slowly disappear
disintegrating like sugar
staining the collecting rain puddles
with a metallic shimmer.

The rain soaked cats move away
to protect other parts of the city
orange tabbys and toothy calico's
sprint off in different directions
and when the next threat arises
they will take deep breath
and inflate like swollen porcupines
finding something new to hiss at

The woman leans against the fence
only slightly relieved.
The only truly unbelievable thing she has ever seen
and it vanished as quickly as the falling rain. 

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