The hectic hubbub of the New York
subway – overwhelming,
to say the least.
Crack.
Screams pierce any sense of peace remaining.
Gunfire? Is this a riot?
The businessman to my left
Is too engulfed in the sweetness
of his blackberry to even hazard a glance.
As the commotion settles, people
return to their normal pace.
A hobo with a Goofy tee hobbles around,
claiming he has AIDS in four
different languages.
Drunk, he comes up to me,
Asking for a smooch.
I give him a quarter.
The smudges on his face
Wrinkle into a frown.
Almost falling, as if in a swoon,
He looks at me.
Dead in the eyes.
******* he says…
Tackle.
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 3:28 PM UTC
The hectic hubbub of the New York
subway – overwhelming,
to say the least.
Crack.
Screams pierce any sense of peace remaining.
Gunfire? Is this a riot?
The businessman to my left
Is too engulfed in the sweetness
of his blackberry to even hazard a glance.
As the commotion settles, people
return to their normal pace.
A hobo with a Goofy tee hobbles around,
claiming he has AIDS in four
different languages.
Drunk, he comes up to me,
Asking for a smooch.
I give him a quarter.
The smudges on his face
Wrinkle into a frown.
Almost falling, as if in a swoon,
He looks at me.
Dead in the eyes.
******* he says…
Tackle.
4 April 2012.
high school warm up exercise. twenty students included the same eight words in their poems.
© 2012 by Lorenzo Soldera. All rights reserved.
