Dream City Vista
Dream City Vista by Roy Jones
This is the painting that my friend Roy did. In case I haven’t properly attributed it to him, this is his website: TheCreativeRoy.
Here is my reaction piece, in three parts:
Part 1: Meddlesome
in physics class
in the long, long time
ago
we built bridges
out
of
match
sticks
and
ours
was
so
light
it snapped al-
most immediately when the weights were piled on
it didn’t take
much
we didn’t know
much
about design
such a meddlesome
thing:
architecture
to the untrained eye
so we were
the victims
of corner cutting
in a precise science
so we made
a new bridge
to leap and tower over
with city skylines
skewed
in little details
drawn in circles
going around the bend
we bend over backwards
like bridges
so often do
and look sideways at our city
falling up
and further away
next time
make no mistakes about it
this is the place
we call
home.
*****
Part 2: Metronome
listening to the click
clack
tick
tock
clock
whirr
bang
swear
word
symphony
of driving
stop
and tip toe
soft
tap
creep
and crawl
and
stop.
take a peek
in windows
curtains drawn
and out of business
building left
right
and every other
foreclosed on former castle
gone to waste
and seed
and stop.
watching
grass
grow
taller and taller and uncut overburdened under-appreciated
hitchhikers
lost in the
concrete wild
directionless
they spin and turn
on this dead end
street
and stop.
put down
your
poor me
sign
your penniless
proclamation
of a fortune-less
hereafter
crystal balls cracked
and horoscopes allude
to a future
in awkward
magic
8-ball
kisses.
unanswered
lipstick
smear
no
chest
left
rising.
the past
unravels
in patterns
of
pitter-pats
and
obsolescence.
the
bells
toll
and stop.
*****
Part 3: Metropolis
where is you superhero,
now?
feeding
bread crusts
to pigeons
because
no one
goes hungry.
holding a
ladder
for the painters
as they
scrape
a brush
over mildew,
mold,
and
dead ivy.
holding up
the rug
for the street
sweepers
to
brush it
all
out of sight,
out of mind.
offering his
pillow fluffing services,
for no one
sleeps
homeless
and
comfortless
in this fair city,
not with dreams
and hope
and a smile
on their faces
scaring all
the crime away
and poverty
and decay.
witness
this:
a lick of paint
the taste of crimson
on a brick wall
made of crumbling
foundation
and wayward tears.
the latest wave of misfortune
declares defeat
so it was written
in all the papers
newsprint on fingertips
fireworks lighting up a riverwalk
banners on planes
buzzing overhead
so loud you can’t hear
the radio
and talking heads
on the television
they always said
it would be over
before you knew it had
ruined everything
you ever hoped for
in a minute,
maybe longer.
it felt much much longer.
still.
wait.
remember
there came a whisper -
something
familiar overheard
in pre-adolescent dawn,
bored of idealism and
head swimming in the clouds
seeded with the spoiled semen
of the failing economy
and a future plagued
by greed.
“take what you can before
the paint
has a chance
to dry.”
they will build up
this once great
metropolis
into something
you’ll never forget
because
you won’t remember
what it cost.
they say you can’t put
a
price-tag
on a love so deep
and
true.
sit
still.
wait.
remember.
there came a whisper
saying something
untrue.
when the paint
starts to fleck
and the faint click
clack
tick
tock
of the clock
and the chimes
all balance out
across the bridge
across the times
no one seems to have
learned
balancing a budget
by
dividing by zero
is so much more
than a
mathematical
crime.
it’s all
these
illogical crimes
like bridges
like rhymes
that pick
and pull
and tug
away.
so you
slap on
a coat
of ruby
red
paint
and you
wait
and you smile
like the future
got here so fast
that the past
wasn’t
so
horrible
to outlast.
like a bridge
over
polluted water,
you carry
the city
with your
polystyrene
smile
and
a wave.
