Saturday Poem
The milky light of a not-so-sinister Saturday
is descending on my cup of green tea
I bought some blackberries and ate them
while reading The Times an expressway
over my shoulder men building things
in the courtyard and the faint sounds
of WNYC piercing the noise like a stickpin
sticking through my entire thumb
I walked to the grocery store earlier
the more indifferent the person ringing
me out the more I want to be kind and open
a conversation or at least exchange a pleasantry
nice weather we've been having lately, yes? A shrug.
Still, with my bananas, my blueberries, my avocados,
my sleepy tea, my canned salmon, I am still
always and only an animal living among animals
and pretending the ability to walk while
erect is something secret and vast
that we must keep from the rest of the country
if only the river had a boat waiting on it
just for me and a few friends if only
the air was thick enough to lift myself
above Baltic Street for just a few seconds
to get a glimpse of all I've been missing
in my thick moods my options are growing
my taxes are done I'm in my favorite chair
poems by James Schuyler on my lap
it's getting to the point where all I can
do is laugh at the despair of winter's
vast rage - curling in on itself now something
else is waiting in the wings let's see what it is.
is descending on my cup of green tea
I bought some blackberries and ate them
while reading The Times an expressway
over my shoulder men building things
in the courtyard and the faint sounds
of WNYC piercing the noise like a stickpin
sticking through my entire thumb
I walked to the grocery store earlier
the more indifferent the person ringing
me out the more I want to be kind and open
a conversation or at least exchange a pleasantry
nice weather we've been having lately, yes? A shrug.
Still, with my bananas, my blueberries, my avocados,
my sleepy tea, my canned salmon, I am still
always and only an animal living among animals
and pretending the ability to walk while
erect is something secret and vast
that we must keep from the rest of the country
if only the river had a boat waiting on it
just for me and a few friends if only
the air was thick enough to lift myself
above Baltic Street for just a few seconds
to get a glimpse of all I've been missing
in my thick moods my options are growing
my taxes are done I'm in my favorite chair
poems by James Schuyler on my lap
it's getting to the point where all I can
do is laugh at the despair of winter's
vast rage - curling in on itself now something
else is waiting in the wings let's see what it is.
posted by Todd Colby at 4:58 PM
3 Comments:
James Schuyler is good company.
I like the whackjob poems best.
Like when he was talking about some imaginary dwelling hundreds of years old.
As though that was where he lived.
I pictured the coffered ceilings and the soot from previous fires.
Grandiosity can't be too clean, really.
Poet tic: mentioning word verification.
mine is WERVOL
If the boat waiting for "just me & a few friends" was manned by the same person who so dazzlingly navigates life with THESE poems, I would be on board faster than a 10 yr. old virgin being chased through the South.
People are sweet in this world of comment boxes. I like sweetness, will not reject it. I'll take it. Let's get on that boat, gang.
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