Heaven’s Hind Legs
Joseph Conlon
The sun breathes hard on the bright side of the street. Markets are bustling away with diners of fine wine. Sidewalks, thick and firm, filling in the arches of each shoe that walks on. Men in suits tip their hats and pay a nickel for a crisp sweet. Newly built homes glisten with fresh, white paint.
It reminds those who belong on this street.
The sun’s gaze stretches only halfway to the opposite side of the street. There are no fine wines on this side. Factories stand high, layering the splintered pavement with thick smog. Men line the streets just for a single sweet piece. The smoldering homes all black and brown. The people sit around and frown.
Though the sun’s side is all fresh to marvel, if the dark side was to topple, the white side would simply follow.