My Re@l Life @s @ Comic Book

I waited to see a judge for my community service.

I listened to a Bronx County Courthouse judge lecture me on the importance of being beneficial to society. He encouraged a pathway to law school.

I thought about being a lawyer but I rather become a mild mannered reporter

We Have Heroes Among Us, quietly went by a highway billboard in The New Millennium. I saw that sign in the winter highlands of Pennsylvania

Sirens screamed and blood was coughed so violently into oxygen mask paramedics jumped back in the time of Ebola outbreaks and no health insurance for some Americans.

I made peace with The God Who Said Vengeance Is His

I sank into the hospital bed and walked light-years in my ocean deep sleep to remember dreams against nightmares. I recalled a bright light in front of my bedroom window when I was a child with photographic memory.

I had the phenomenon of reliving moments in a blink of an eye as the ceilings of Lincoln Hospital became bright as the ones on a cell phone shown to me by a New York Post reporter who investigated UFOs around the building my mother and I live in.

UFOs made the cover of the newspaper founded by a Founding Father.

Proof of aliens exist everywhere on Earth

Poverty is alien.

I woke up to the sight of clothes, furniture and toys thrown out of windows like a scene from an Oscar winning motion picture on Nazis evicting Jews from Germany.

I recall Mr. Marks, a grandfatherly English teacher at P.S 25, gave me a book to keep.

The boy I was carried the diary of a girl through shadows of bullies and burnt buildings that fell over us in The South Bronx when it looked like England under siege in WWII.

 I climbed up to my bunk bed to travel time by her thoughts conceived decades ago.

Machine gun sounds of power tools rattled nerves from morning to afternoon.  Apartments were worked on for weeks when ours needed work.

The hallway was crowded with drywalls, lumber and nails.

At night, our side of the building was silent with vacancies, a ghost town covered in sawdust. Someone is knocking on the door, whispered my disabled mother.

Leave your belongings behind. I’m giving you and your mother bunk beds, said a rep from Paradise Management on behalf of the new landlords.

He wanted us to move into another apartment on the other side of the building where the rep wanted to get two elderly long time female residents to move to yet another side of the building where a faint scent of 9/11 drifted upon the night and also weathered a monstrous Nor’easter that effortlessly dragged a roller coaster into the ocean as it caused homelessness among the middleclass of the Garden State across The Hudson River.

Workmen brought boxes upon boxes of bunk beds to the courtyard.