Telephone Pole Prophecy
By Nordette Adams
Yesterday, traveling through broken New Orleans,
I saw a sign on Washington and Broad:
Cash for Gold Teeth.
Cash for Gold Teeth!
Forsake idiotic decisions.
Dismantle the self, but how?
Shroud and sickle come nailing signs on chests,
foreclosures on flesh,
heralding soul's recession.
How we hunger for resurrection.
(c) 2009 Nordette Adams
3 comments:
Good Word!
There is something very creepy about that type of exchange! Just thinking about it makes me cringe.Ewww!
An elegant poem that covers the desperation of that moment.
Very sad--and very moving poem in response.
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