Poetry: Kingston Symphony [TWO GIRLS ON TOWER STREET]

One is perched atop a wood plank
before a corner
Stall
first supine - then quickly on her side
the other
Stands
together they mimic the
city grid
One heavyset the
other
balanced and
Tuned
a
Stradivari with no
strings
One
with skin the
colour
of
the
wastewater
that harasses
the tired drains
below their feet
the
other
bronzed like dried
mud
the offspring of some
long forgoten
liaison
between
colonialist and
survivalist
This one
Harbours dreams
of an uptown
Knight
in a white carbon
chariot
to whisk her
off scummy
scarred sidewalks
to the
bliss
of
gated gardens
and
branded
Bistros
the other
merely
sneers her
resignation and
betrays
the constricting vision
of random
regeneration
with multiple
suitors
Both seem
oblivious
to the
growing
rumble
of
 Gentrification