The Snail

The Snail

A snail crawls beneath a rock
In the backyard of a house
On a street in the Bronx
Dreaming dreams of freedom unforeseen
Still, with each passing day, right back under a rock he crawls
To wallow in that dismal mire of visions unfulfilled
And drunken stupor will chase the night
Into a dead end street of smog and sunshine
With the morning's light
In the backyard of a house
On a street in the Bronx

The days change names
But the dreams always stay what they are: only dreams
Year in, year out; months and days; hours to moments
Mili- to micro-seconds of no end
More angst than Angstrom acheived
No, a means to end; means to a no end
A no means to end; a no means end
Day after day, beneath his rock,The snail does crawl
In the backyard of a house
On a street in the Bronx

The Bronx, where dreamers still go nowhere fast
A resting place for dreams that die too young
Resurrected daily by graffiti on subway cars and walls
A T. V. set location where burnt out buildings stand monument
For more colorful eras long forgotten
Where ants and mice scurry
Towards the crumbs of a devoured loaf
Sunday through Monday frantically they prowl
Only to carry back little or nothing!
At all; for offspring waiting and anxiously hungry
And the snail sees all, dreaming dreams of freedom unforeseen
Only to crawl under a rock
In the backyard of a house
On a street in the Bronx

� 1993 Frank Cadillac