A City Where the Monster Rules


The City Where a Monster Rules

She was a big girl, so – you
wouldn’t take another look,
back then when guys
were always ready.

Right smack on the corner,
she would stand; her fat
bust’ in out of her top, think’in
she’s sexy, not knowing
boys put her name on a list –
one of the homely ones to
pray over.

When she stood at the
corner – never needed
a stop sign since boys in
souped-up cars stopped,
and stared at the fat girl.
She’d give – the finger.

The fat girl; now skin and
bones – some health care
provider, but I bet she steals
pills; kind of like when she
stuffed girdles, and bras into
a bag. I was left holding,
after she bought me a big
hot fudge sundae.

That was the last time
I went shopping with a fat
girl – Mama told me she
was too big for me –
knowing Mama was
referring to her age.

It isn’t the same, our
neighborhood. The
monster stopped growing.
Papa hates to see a city die.
He talks about all the people,
and all the traffic.

One after another – car after
car; cars with crank out
windows, running boards,
white walls, all stalling out
in one long line – waiting
for the whistle from the
monster – signaling another
work day.

The whistle at the plant,
feeds all the mouths, helps
plant gardens and educate
children – pay the mortgage.

The monster, owns people,
where I was born – the
monster paid for the holster
and Dale Evans pistol for my
brother… filled the cookie jar,
and gave us enough money
for a parakeet.

The men who sat in the
board room, on the second
floor, right past a ladies room
and under a chandelier,
in front of a wood burning
fireplace, near a solid oak coat
tree – those men ruled the city;
or, did the city rule them?

When the whistle sounded
at the end of a work-day, a
city of robots, or future –
computerization – moved
together – stop lights longer,
cross walks crowded and
people marching down Erie
Boulevard like ants – in perfect

No one in the city worried,
it was built, and cared for by
giants – and the giant lights
the world – built home-town

Papa and all the Papas in the
city – dipped themselves into
chemical baths – buried in nuclear
waste – emptied corn fields
never really empty – never
just grass, or tumble weeds
nestled adjacent to the railroad,
and across from another giant
on the other side of town.

No one thought about disease
or the environment – all people
cared about was if the monster
survived – and then they would.

So growing up the boys all
thought the fat girl was the
monster – their Papa’s soon
told them who the monster
really was – parts of the
monster still survive.

  1. Avatar of Andrew J. Sacks
    Andrew J. Sacks says

    Nancy is prolific, yet profound. I love your work and find much meaning, always thought-provoking. Thank you again!

  2. Avatar of Nancy Duci Denofio
    Nancy Duci Denofio says

    Thanks for taking time to read my work, and I want you to know how much it is appreciated. And, likewise. Sincerely, Nancy

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