Acheron Poem by Theresa Haffner

'Who listens to classical music, anyway? '
-Bill Bored, 'Urban Contemporary.'

structural dawn, vacant skies
meaningless streets, desolate sidewalks
deserted now in this hour after sunrise
get used to the directionlessness
(drifting aimlessly like a boat with
broken rudder)
get used to the poverty
get used to the filthy clothes and
unshaven faces
(prematurely aged by the sun's
ultraviolet rays)
of those who populate this barren
landscape
of run down hotels and abandoned
buildings
how many days, how many days
days without names, each one like the
others
got to remember who i am
got to remember who i am supposed to
be
got to remember the dreams and visions
of my youth,
the ideals i lived my life for
got to remember my name
always get $1.25 for beer, the Rx for
alcohol
that helps to forget the hopelessness
helps to forget the dreams that won't
come true
helps to forget who i was and the life i
used to lead
helps to forget where i am and how i got
here
helps to face another day without hope
of change
the stench of urine, the smell of decay
the back alleys of broken glass
plastic bags and bottle caps
the trash strewn in disarray
a symphony of crumpled newspapers
old rags and cardboard boxes
strung like garlands and arabesques
overflowing the dumpster
in cascades like colored streamers

(NOTE: Charon ferried the souls of the dead across the River Acheron to the underworld, but only for a price. Those who could not pay, who had no coin to toss, or who could not afford a proper burial were denied passage and condemned to wander 100 years without a resting place.)