It is go time in the city
by Charles Andres Alberto
Where the road blocks topple down-
And are strewn about like legos
Round the corners of the town.
When the milk runs through the city,
Rushing through the doors of banks and bread shops-
the daughters of the mayor will cower in the slithers
Of chimney bricks and field crops
And the friends of older brothers
Seem to want to puff cigars,
But say that they're too young,
And will hide beneath the cars.
And those cars that drive like screwdrivers
Untwist and unleash crime-
I'd move out of this city
If only there were time.