Just a gander into the crystal ball.
All I wanted to do was see what was happening in the world.
I should have known better. I'm always drawn to the worst.
It was frightful,
How a delightful sunlit day can reveal so many gray
I saw a spot in the Lower East Side
Where junkies migrated in crowds,
They were a herd
Of pinpoint pupils,
Trudging zombified to the East,
That this dawn would not be when they conquer the beast.
A pack in which I once roamed,
Are a mystifying site to pedestrians scurrying along,
Each side judgmental of the other,
Neither thinking they can be wrong.
A young woman from the zombie pack,
Deviates from her migration to suffice a need,
Enters a bodega,
Pockets a Cinnabon,
Not for greed, but to feed.
As she walks out,
There stood a man with a badge in her sight,
But he was too busy for her,
Stuck between two bums in a fight.
She grimaced inside for not being caught,
But was oblivious to what was behind the bum altercation,
The sad truth is these less fortunate souls,
Over cardboard hibernation.
Three blocks south,
Stood a man by his Buick,
Parked on a well traveled school path,
A happy young boy skipped by,
Never thinking that skip would be his last.
The dirty leper sneered,
Snatched his prey while no one was aware,
The child's soul would only know corruption,
A hell for which he could not prepare.
The Buick barreled uptown,
Bypassing a fiend in a mask with a gun,
Who was entering a liquor store,
Not intending to decease a mother's son.
He steadily pointed his piece,
"All the money - in the bad - NOW!",
Hell broke loose,
The cashier refused,
And blood instantly flood the aisle.
The gunman fled with godspeed,
Deafened by the sound of two street bikes racing afar,
Right up Broadway,
Past infested bars,
Weaving in and out of cars.
One racer looked back,
To see how much ground he gained,
When an ambulance with sirens blaring pulled into his lane,
Pavement blood stained.
Now the ambulance was delayed,
And an elderly woman suffered and perished,
Choking on a cold chicken bone,
Clicking that life alert button she cherished.
Its a shame because her grandchild,
Was on the way to say hello,
But they were greeted by sirens,
And some chunky uniformed fellow.
The bearer of fatal news
Instantly put tears in the child's eyes,
He fled in haste,
Ran through the park,
To tell his dad of Grandma's demise.
But on the run he fell hard,
Blood poured from his left arm,
So a working man stopped his day to help,
Speaking softly to keep him calm.
But as the man bent down to attend the need,
Another man invaded the back of his slacks,
He turned quickly,
But the pickpocket was escaping,
Running like wind toward the alley cracks.
Five minutes passed, the pickpocket slowed,
He knew he safely got away,
He counted his loot, took what he needed to cop,
And hit the spot to start his day.
It wasn't even 10am.
The crystal ball had made me sick.
I'm going to write a fluffy poem now,
My mind needs a trick.