Chronicle of Urban Change

twenty eighteen

i wake up
& check my stats!
the beast needs to be fed.

like embers when the fire
drifts. our sticks poke
but she’s going.

they used to knock
your door for old wood
not these days.

the area is rigged
with expensive apartments
high into the sky.
the green space
gobbled up
like prisons.

and when rates hike
the bottom falls out
the freeholder
(whoever that is)
screws for other ways
to make money.

the leaseholders
as night time dawns
oddly stay indoors –
streets quiet
lights off at 10 –

while others dance
under a garnered moon
they too will fall asleep.

i wake up
& check my stats!
the beast needs to be fed.