Asphalt Jungle
Poem by Kristin Roybal // art by Wesley Vara

In this awful city
There's a price for everything
Even the lie in your eyes
But no one will pay for the truth
You try to buy some food
But some man is trying to sell you
The new Power 500 Transmission version 2
And you'd rather starve than not have it
The boy sitting across from you is wearing
A hooded sweatshirt with a logo on it that bears the name
Of a money-hungry balding old swindler
And pants four sizes too big
He's also got
A 200 dollar watch on
But he barely has enough change to buy
The greasy burger he's eating

In this city
They'll eat you alive
They'll promise to double what you have
And leave you with less than you started
In this city you sell yourself
To the highest bidder
You push and you pull
You climb and you step on
Anyone you can
To get to the top
In this city
When you get to the top
You have to start all over again
Here in this city
Resistance is futile
Class stereotypes and superficial judgments
Are entirely unavoidable

In this city
You can hear the sound
Of the hungry crying themselves to sleep every night
Of the lonely
Up until 3am typing away at their computers
Of the rich
Counting their money
The screams
Of prostitutes and pathetic men fucking
Down on their luck
Tried to walk the straight line and failed
Can't see which way is left or right
Back or forward
And they tried, they tried so hard
But they gave up
Couldn't fight the system
Couldn't stand the strain
Couldn't make their way through this city
This awful city
This lonely night
This never-ending terror
This fool's gold
This all-you-can-eat, people decaying in the streets
City
This is every major metropolitan city in America