From downtrodden alley we sat on the stairs <br />of the tenement buildings that led to nowhere <br />and we watched as the gangsters, the pimps, and the tramps <br />handed bribes to the coppers without any thanks <br /> <br />We were just kids, a mixture of sorts <br />of Spanish, Italians, Irish, and Scots <br />all of us vermin and not to be seen <br />by the people uptown who thought life was a dream <br /> <br />And the stench from the sewers would mix with the blood <br />like the guy who was shot on a wink and a nod <br />for upsetting some Moll whose connections were grey <br />but life has no value where poverty plays <br /> <br />And the Salvation Army would march down the street <br />with their instruments tied to their waist on a cleat <br />to deter the unruly, most of all us <br />from stealing their trumpets and selling the brass <br /> <br />We would be runners for some hoodlums book <br />five cents on the dollar for being a crook <br />money invested on making a claim <br />with the men of importance who never had names <br /> <br />They demolished the alleys down where we grew <br />they say it's now better, it's clean and it's new <br />where the streets are all empty and crime is quite scarce <br />but memories are strong of our life on the stairs.<br /><br />Charles M. Moore<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/downtrodden-alley/
