G STREET
KEVIN RIDGEWAY
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These identical box houses
lining this long,
southwestern stretch of suburbia
-
used to be inhabited by
Leave it to Beaver clones,
Stepford Wives dancing
-
with their many children beneath
the California sun,
but the kids flew away as angry birds.
-
Now it’s shakedown street,
with wino gulch,
would-be-gangsters chugging 40s
-
and playing with guns.
-
At night several people rummage
through their clothes on weed patches,
kicked out by their old men and ladies,
-
wailing into cellular phones
-
while lines of carnival participants
head to and fro from single file
to the local liquor store,
-
screaming faces that blur
dull blades cutting at the night wind
burning the gentle memories away,
-
those old folks that chose to stay
and weather this storm,
shivering in their family home.
-
Inside their house it’s
the 1960’s all over again,
grandchildren playing
-
but not allowed beyond its doors,
-
out on G Street.
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Kevin Ridgeway’s work has recently appeared in Underground Voices, Clutching at Straws, Dark Chaos, Red Fez, The Camel Saloon and Front Porch Review. He can currently be found in a bungalow shaded by an avocado tree near Los Angeles, playing with his girlfriend and their one-eyed cat.
