The Vacant Lot

close to home
and ringed by pale crack
ed pavement
is
covered
in
trash.
Mangy brown rats gnaw
on the bodies of their
young,
sharpen their teeth
on a scorched antique chair,

and scurry through refuse—
arcades of
rusted      car          parts
and flat                  tires.

Dingy white birds
build nests
of yellow smeared newspapers
in the                           safety
of            ancient
elm tree
branches,

then
fly
down
to feast
on moldy hot dogs
and pizza
soaked in stagnant puddles.
The birds fly back screeching,
scattering
white
droppings
on the untamed grass that smothers bleached asphalt teeth—

But you know,
there’s something about
the sun-kissed
sparkle
of,
broke
n                 liquor
bot
tles           and           make
shift crack pipes
that makes me want
to sway
with the zealous
undulations
of windswept
overgrowth.

By Mark Morgan Jr.

Biography:

Mark Morgan Jr. writes poetry for An Autumn Road, his poetry blog located at http://anautumnroad.tumblr.com. One of his previous works, “Moving Man”, was featured in the May 2015 issue of The Rising Phoenix Review. A native of Detroit, he is currently living in Saint Clair Shores and celebrating his bachelor’s degree in secondary education.