Drugged up people stumbling around like zombies,
Vacant eyes, no one home in them, too far gone.
Some hardly conscious, barely upright swaying
like being blown about in random winds.
Distorted people shooting up in public,
A Disneyland of human caricatures.
Trash all over the sidewalks and the streets.
Drug paraphernalia scattered everywhere.
It’s a goddamn, screwed up sloppy mess.
Kensington Avenue, whatever happened to you?
And how is it America has fallen so far
With other drug ridden cities like this?
Shame on the rich, indifferent politicians
In charge of all of this misery and neglect
On the streets of Kensington Avenue.
Bob Boyd
Author: BobBoyd
Age 80. Cancer survivor since 3 years ago. Work out 3 times a week. Ride my exercise bike 2 hours a day. Live a solo reclusive life. Retired a year ago from working with the elderly in a nonprofit. Started writing poetry a little over a year ago; most poems I write are fictional but some are not. Spiritual with a permanent spiritual experience. Write poems on many subjects. Always researching for many of my poems and because of my unquenchable thirst for knowledge. After reading and hearing about many near death experiences and death bed visions, I believe death is the ultimate awakening and the relocation of a lifetime. You may believe differently, but you have the right to be wrong -- I'm just messing with you. :-)
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