Three doors to Mississippi
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Alley Doctor

​​​​In the alley, dark
Clouded day, steal blue
Door painted rust, kicked
Marred, too short, too odd
Just right for the doctor

Six panes, their pain
Glass and chicken wire
Windows, padlocked
Over-used bronze handle
Polished by the oily grit
Of beggars hands

Woe-is-me, they cried
Those who crept or crawled
Showed up at his door
Much, much after nightfall
Begged to him, have mercy
And he, with tired eyes
Tried to send them away

Yet still they came
A line was made
They leaned, they laid
A cold wall, tan, pink and buff
To each side, let go their pride
Be it rags or suits and tie

He performed each night
Behind boarded up windows
Under a lamp unseen
And the cries came forth
The cadavers did pile
In a graveyard to the north

The red brick now
Blocks the surgeon’s mitts
From prescribing his medicine
And protracting crucial elements
With crude instruments
Unwashed hands

Now the light is off
Bulb torn from its socket
No tears, no torture
Nor appointment to keep
The doctor is out

Still, the door remains, blocks
The view of those who still
Seek their missing parts
Spend their days listening
To the cries of locked up spirits
in the Chair​

To see the words upon her chair
To see her lips, and long black hair

“Embrace on a new adventure,”
The statement read
Yet, from her mouth, nothing was said

The story continued in rainbow colors
I looked upon her as I had no other

“To see if there is enough…”
For some there never would be
For today, I hoped they’d see

Above and below
A pretty rainbow

“Goodness in the world”
And feel no shame
Nor scatter the blame

Tattered and beat
Black legs and feet

“To be yourself”
And in the silence, she stood firm
While her words spread, a healthy germ