SATURDAY MORNING DOWN-CITY by John Grey

Spears shape the day,
store-window glass through boards,
third floor apartment's darts of sun,
tenement stoop through light.
They all prick, some stab, some pierce.
A man takes advice from a gun seller.
A woman cooks beans in a pot.
A kid sinks a free throw.
The air smells like rotted onions
but the mice and the junkies
are at peace in their slovenly walls.
Boom boom boom!
Sidewalk DJ has his roots in the coal below.
Dancers are like refugees from a video shoot.
I shout, meet up with you on hairspray corner,
in the silent crisscross by the busted lamp.
Jackhammers, car-horns, hip-hop -
can't hear ourselves love.
Traffic embodies its great snarl
but people untangle by the slapping hands.
Give me your strength in numbers
and I'll take out the trash at noon.
Pile on me, gentleness,
and I may even learn to love suffocation.
Guitar strummers bake in the city park.
Rough father's skin melts
but smooth satin singing Motown survives.
Fireplug bursts and concrete turns to cloud.



John Grey is an Australian born poet. Recently published in International Poetry Review, Chrysalis and the science fiction anthology, “Futuredaze” with work upcoming in Potomac Review, Sanskrit and Fox Cry Review. 

This Zine Will Change Your Life previously published Amanda by John Grey. Check it out.

Photo by Adam Lawrence.

lōnue is an emerging Chicago musician with an amazing voice and an experimental focus. "Banks" comes from his new self-released free EP Freemont.