Poem...

PARKWAY

The sloping side of the sidewalk is lined
with empty bottles, still wrapped in the brown paper
that does not conceal them,
disposed of in a drunken nihilist toss.
Thousands of nihilist tosses.

A kid is playing on an oil-stained parking lot
where broken glass glitters on the gray concrete,
amongst the crates and car parts.
When he goes home, the burned-heads go out,
they sit there, on the curb,
looking at the parking lot where they used to play.