Median Income

Posted on April 2, 2013


Median Income

The angular oasis in the wet, icy sea of concrete. The hot, dusty, sticky desert of concrete.
The slivers of white left by a hurried hand filling in the gray of this mega city.
Misshapen islands with no taxable businesses.

Dogs saunter across busy streets, and, when they sink their first paw into grass, there is a dull flash in their subconscious “Ah, this is right.”

Gypsies dot the medians like turtles baking on a mossy log in a muddy lake.
Sometimes there is a blanket spread for a family meal of candy bars.
Our house, in the middle of the Street.
Fast, boring, reality TV for the 5 o’clock traffic.
Sometimes they stand like sunbaked sentinels on the grassy knoll.
Useless lookouts watching the parade of the 5 o’clock traffic from the grassy knoll.
Most of the time you won’t find them there.
But you can see the worn footpaths. The brown veins on the hillside where they slide down and splash into traffic.

Mobile kiosks swimming through cars.
Do they know that more people will pass by them in two hours than the McDonald’s downtown?
And will any of those people be in need of a rose? Simit or water? A cell phone charger?
Over on the median you might find a pile of roses waiting to be pruned.
A young child sits cross legged in the grass. Baking in the sun. They just don’t have the stamina. (I think she blurs her eyes and lets the passing cars take her into a trance.)

And this is really the only space left.
And they have always just been passing through.
And who will moan when they’ve passed.
And will you need a phone charger one hot/cold day on the way home in bumper to bumper traffic.
And will I ever be able to forgive them.

Posted in: Istanbul, Neighbors