As soon as it began

I knew it wouldn’t end well.
The elements of tragedy
arranged as chess pieces
in the expanse of concrete
of a city too big not to fail:
a prostitute, a mute boy,
a talented artist, a goon,
a sensitive Blanche
for the finale sacrifice,
a ray of hope in a kite,
a dream of escape, a cat,
disease and drugs and
innocent youth for sale.
The vocabulary of my town
expressed beautifully
in  shades of purple and brown
that sink beneath my gaze,
away from charity, towards
a hard won selfishness
assembled in layers.
I cannot clap while in tears.
I do not see their escape.
Have all ancient clans
who have seen it all,
this doomed from the start?
I see the repeat of fall
right here in exile, in Eden,
of the same bit players.