Street Credo

tenement doors wide open
cross air smells of burnt food
clotheslines full of tattered laundry
hang like deflated puppets on strings
from dilapidated balconies
dishes clang
glass shatters
screaming mothers yell at children
hung over husbands swear at wives
children run down stairwells
looking for some escape from the heat
from the noise
from the incessant arguing
gunfire...another drive by
street fights end in bashed heads
played out in living color
street credo permiates
contendors for the exit doors
searching for the key
the way out
no one wins