unlike some others
walking past in thrifty coats
it's cold for a moment
a suffering in the city-my home town
similarly I huddle, smelling the gasoline
on my fingers
metropolitan blitheness
a chopper descending on the bookstore
no cause for alarm
no cause for a second glance, a mothering instinct
my neck aches like Italy
the metallic parts have rusted out
a fleshy lemon
squeezed of my acid
©2006 Andrew French
1 comment:
You have not posted any poetry in quite some time, you should treat us to more.
Post a Comment