Red Zone Motel

Waiting for a bus near the Red Zone tonight
Bathed in the light from motels past their prime
A recently-razed building over the road
With the turret of a once-proud villa
Poking out from the piles of rubble

I happen to spy a bunch of roving youths on bicycles
Who tarry awhile, to do tricks off a variety of things
Around the deserted intersection, before carrying on
While they don't have mohawks, or spiky shoulder pads,
It still adds nicely to that post-apocalyptic ambience

A large engine growls and I'm heading for home
And thinking about where the heart is

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Someone suggested my night sounded like poetry. So now it is, heh.