Saturday Night in the Big City

Saturday night in the big city

September 6, 2008 by rick mobbs

Once I saw a seed gone bad,
a twisted, tortured face it had.
Its roots and voice were trapped inside.
Life would never break through here;
tomorrow would wait forever.

It was a futile little budless thing,
full of sadness, hopeless,
abandoned by its maker.
It’s she who weeps beside you now
and shrieks
and scares the birds and squirrels
and bites the children who used to climb upon her.

There’s one who watches
from a distance
her insanity, his persistence,
helpless as a man
who’s lost his hands
and shattered, shattered,
shattered by the bitter taste of
mildew in the seedbins,
in the corn and acorn
and in the arms and under
the sway and shadow
of an old oak tree
dying
forgotten.

Rick Mobbs September 2008 (This version)