To get out, she has to go thru a tunnel.
Down, down, down. So many stairs,
tan walls crowding her movements.
Out the door, she will escape. In daylight,
nameless children rule the street. The street,
one side lined with cars, cracked sidewalks,
unhygenic grit, trash, and food wrappers,
and cat shit, and trash. The children are there,
their mothers are not. The children play on the sidewalks,
crossing the street. They stop her to ask if her dog
bites. Occasionally there are adults on the street;
they fight. The houses and apartments line
the street like teeth. There is a park, open,
grassy, unfenced, at the end of the street.
The children never make it there. They stay
in the dirt, they pick up the trash and throw it
against the cars, against the buildings. The city
is endless, but this fanged block is theirs.