A Mother Cries
By Rob Hesler
Hot dusty breeze.
Nestles Crunch wrapper flits by, carried away.
Brown puddles from the early evening rain fill the potholes.
Light poles all askew, dark. Dead.
One light blinks on.
Off.
On.
Off.
Somewhere a mother cries.
Red and blue lights strobe.
A neon light blinks
Lotter Tick ts He e.
Another says More than a billion served.
The windows all are dark. The sign says Hiring.
Somewhere a mother cries.
A cowboy on his horse. Full stride.
Marlboro man making money.
High above the dark gray street in living color
the billboard says
Even Me? Get tested.
And somewhere, a mother cries.
There is another sign
Behind the eight foot high chain-link fence.
Elementary School it says.
Sirens wail. Horns blare.
Another sign. See a crime, call.
Somewhere, a mother still cries.
In the dark alley two eyes peer out.
Experienced eyes. Been here before.
Cautious eyes. Expecting the worst.
Weary eyes from all the other times.
Head lights pass. Twelve-year-old boy.
Somewhere a mother keeps crying.
Finger twitches. Up.
Down.
Up.
Down.
Then still. Forever.
Dark red stain across the cold gray pavement
Still wet from the early evening rain.
Somewhere a mother starts crying.
...
