Poem Hunter
Around The Corner
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Around The Corner

Maxwell Street on a Sunday
was full of tired bargains
from wary peddlers
trying to live
the American dream,
blocks and blocks
of wooden tables
filled with everything
and anything
that had the
possibility to bring
a buck or two.
Fools in loud suits
paraded broken women
with thick mascara
and cheap perfume
for a sawbuck or a bone.
Gypsy women sat
on sagging lawn chairs
proclaiming that the
future was for sale,
blind musicians on
warped guitars were
crying out the blues
under a pungent sweet scent
of grilled onions
feeding thousands
of the common
looking for a bargain
or a light to
their flame of hope.
Maxwell Street on a Sunday
promising so much
to so many
that wanted
to believe that
the American dream
was right around the corner.

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