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| photo by PSC |
School of Hard Knocks
Used to be in this barrio
a knock at the door
was a convivial occasion,
an offer of companionship:
family, friends bringing laughter,
good news, music maybe,
perhaps gifts or some
delectable homemade goodies.
Mayhap you’d be greeted
by a rhythmic rap
or an elderly neighbor’s
arthritic tap, a doorbell,
a friendly shout,
even the dog barking
to be let in or let out;
every one a cordial noise,
a welcome sound.
But more recently
they’re learning
to keep doors locked,
shades drawn,
and everyone dreads
ICE’s hard-fisted pound.
PSC / 2017-Apr
My offering for Day 6 of Robert Lee Brewer's Poem-a-Day
(PAD).
Assignment: a poem about a sound
This is so sad. Neighborhoods just aren't the same. We have a great little pocket park in ours, just a little over a year or two open, and already some obnoxious teens have kind of overrun it. Sucks.
ReplyDeleteIt IS sad that neighborhoods don't seem the same. It's a changing world, alright, and we need to look out for each other.
DeleteGreat modern-day reflection--ending with a twist. We need to remember that even with doors locked, it is each of us who need to step up to the door...to wave to our neighbors...to invite conversation...to make people feel welcome. We were all immigrants once alone in a strange new land. We have the power to help.
ReplyDeleteSo true, Shelly, and important to remember -- especially during these difficult times. Thank you!
Delete