ON THE STREETS OF KAMORA by Elizabeth Hipwell

On the streets of Kamora,
a man sits at the Fountain of Angels,
eyeing the days offerings
which lie at the bottom
of the tepid water.
The man remembers when he was 
one of the click clacking masses,
on their way to work,
in the Main Dome of Kamora,
ready to pass ordinances
which allowed dogs on leashes in the park,
bettering and improving the city,
keeping it’s cobblestones,
which were erected in eras past.
The man remembers losing his position
and being put on the street 
because the cost of living in Kamora came too high.
He sits where he can,
sleeps where he can
eats what he can.
The underbelly of Kamora is paved with grease and dirt.
The great unwashed populate the parks at night.
No clickety clacks.
more ting tinging and swish swash.
The man notices all the details of Kamora,

what he was too busy to notice in “better” times.
The mosaics of the great buildings 
with the echoes of it’s former prominence.
                                                      -Liz Hipwell