In the place that I call home

In the place that I call home 
where in the scorching summer time walking the streets 
I am longing for something to cool my dry throat, 
where past the police substation, past the fire station, 
past the full Vons parking lot, 
past the Wendys and Wells Fargo 
the homeless set up a makeshift city…their city within a city 
and sit on the corner in front of the Department of Social Services 
with a sign “Homeless, any little bit helps”, 
Where rummaging through trash cans 
to be able to afford that next drink or smoke 
is considered earning a living 
where that smell of urine from the bum sleeping on the bench 
One of many people sleeping and waiting at stop 22, 
who have no place to go 
Make their way to the north side, 
their only option is to wait for the Q to take them from 
downtown to uptown all for $2.00, half of what it costs to fill up a gas tank, 
where north meets south, in the middle a self sustaining city, 
an all you can eat buffet of plump peaches, fervent fermented grapes, 
mouth watering oranges and a bounty of vegetables 
all ready to be harvested from a never ending giving earth 
even though not everyone can eat it. 
where everyone is connected by miles of mazes 
99, 41, 180, 168, 
north…south…east…west 
where traffic cones stand at attention 
Forcing already frazzled and agitated drivers 
to listen carefully at the hazard they are warning about 
where each summer, the land burns 
and people flea for their lives from their homes with only what 
they can carry, where every day you run from something 
that you can’t escape from your past. 
r…u…n…n…i…n…g from the daily sirens that scream “Hold on, I am coming!” 
Only to find quiet rest at a pond surrounded by trees, 
peaceful water and ducks that waddle across the street against the light 
in front of stopped traffic. 
Where the neighborhood bar never closes, 
everyone knows your name, 
slowly sipping a Bud Light or poorly made cocktail you can shoot pool, 
knocking the days’ stress into the leather pockets…1 ball at a time

--Amanda N., Adult