Author: Gary Beck
Source: https://www.polseguera.com/writers/writing-786_rigors.html


Rigors


Gary Beck/Rigors

 

Disorder

Gunshots echo again

as we huddle on the floor

hoping the street battle

will be over soon

before bullets penetrate

the walls of our apartment

in public housing.

Almost every night now

shooting starts after dark

so we don't dare go outside

at risk of getting shot,

except for emergencies.

If my children get sick

and need a doctor,

no matter how dangerous

the trip to the hospital

I have to do it for them

because ambulances

don't come here anymore.

 

 

Resources

The big storm finally came

and blew out the power.

The streets are impassable.

I'm stuck in my apartment

without electricity

so I can't charge my phone,

my laptop, my kindle.

I don't know anyone

in this building of strangers,

so I can't visit someone

to pass the time away.

I'm going out of my mind

because there's nothing to do

and I can't help worrying

what will happen to me

if the power doesn't come back.

 

 

Beauty

I see the tarnished city

streets overflowing

with legions of the lost,

homeless veterans

yearning for their uniforms,

illegal immigrants

hope ignited at the Rio Grande,

extinguished at the detention center,

the mentally ill, the criminals,

the endless victims of poverty

circumspectly ignored

by citizens of abundance

subtracted from humanity,

guilty of the primal sin

abandonment of the children.

All these horrors parade

before my scavenged eyes,

then I turn a corner,

walk past a neglected park,

halted by a flash of orange

a Monarch butterfly,

a visitor of beauty,

a feast for my famished soul,

a momentary fantasy

of pollenating away

the pestilential ugliness

that pollutes the urb.

 

Choices

I lived with my husband

for six pain-filled years

of constant abuse,

verbal and physical,

until I divorced him.

Then he started death threats.

First were unsigned letters,

words cut from magazines

promising torture.

Next were obscene phone calls

vowing he would kill me.

I went to the police,

talked to a detective,

showed him all the letters,

described all the phone calls,

but all he could suggest,

an order of protection

that he said wouldn't do much good,

which left me only one choice

to get a pistol

and learn to use it.

 

 

Housing Crisis

The inexorable plan

of the corporate magnates

to gentrify the cities

continues relentlessly,

lower income residents

forced out of their apartments

by inordinate rent hikes,

until all they can afford

are outer borough buildings

far removed from former jobs,

so travel is too costly

for them to go to work,

leaving urban centers

as the playground for the rich,

labor imported daily,

not allowed to live there.