The Neighborhood

by Carlos Bulan

The streets in my neighborhood are like no other

But there’s one catch

In Hawaii we don’t live in grass huts that quivers and rutters

Nor do we frolic in grass skirts… why bother

So please don’t judge about this island patch

But my neighborhood is somewhat a clutter

 

Unlike a neighborhood you might live in

This is the neighborhood with four clovers

one out of 1000 that is unique.

The house at the end was burned

as if someone dumped fiery lava all over it

not a speck of evidence survived in the burning heat

like a needle in a haystack

a man died

he fell from that two story house and fell to his death struck by a thin lightning wire

like a egg falling of the empire state.

his mom mourned him as well as his dear family

I knew that man… but not long enough…

But almost every day an ambulance takes its “morning schedule” to our neighborhood

I wandered into the pitch black skies when peace will arrive

the poor people who might’ve… died

 

That one house with ear piercing fights

At the beginning of the street where it’s hard to avoid that humongous obstacle

that roadblock that never gets out of your head

like the ketchup bottle that’ll never budge

silence

it’s peaceful

just without the random roars of kittens

the kittens without a mom

the mother laying in two dimension

squashed

thin as paper

dead

But there is a brighter side

the roaring wave of parties

the joy of kids playing basketball

and the spirits rising to the stratosphere.

That place is my neighborhood

night..

but as the orange sun peels of its skin we awaken

putting the past aside.

to fit a freshly opened day that expires the day after

so we use our day wisely.

next time you judge a neighborhood

remember it has a positive side.