all the good people with cokes and ice cream cones
all the good people with cokes and ice cream cones
are walking the george washington bridge
they are taking photos of new york city
selfies and group shots to post online
and bike riders are riding in lycra gangs ringing their asinine bells at anyone in their way
and the joggers are getting fit
it’s seventy degrees out in february
for a third day
it is so easy to smile into the face of our own ecological damnation
ah, but the hudson river looks like melted gold reflecting off of the sun
and manhattan shines like a wondrous emerald
oz today we are sweating as we hustle along the bridge
tomorrow there will be snow showers
and the weather will barely reach forty
and the lovers holding hands will hide inside and shiver
the wind will howl
tossing garbage cans and tree bark
the bike riders and joggers will take the bus
and all the good people with cokes and ice cream cones will sit in their homes and sip tea and eat soup
manhattan will turn gray again
the hudson river will get choppy
the sun will shun us like dead love
february will make february great again for at least a couple of days
before it turns seventy degrees once more
and all of the people will come back outside to walk the george washington bridge
like clueless lemmings smiling zombies waddling in end times
never thinking for a moment how much better it could be to simply step up on the metal ledge and jump the hell off.
poem to the woke white guy in the noodle shop on 53rd
if you think the word violence
can be attributed to a group of white women
directing a play full of cuban actors
then i suggest you check
out the latest news from syria
or, hell, walk through any neighborhood in america these days
though just maybe not ones like you grew up in
but if it is such a violence
then why are you even working on the play?
there are a million starving artists in the city
willing to play stage hand
who’d be happy to spend their days at the MoMA
despite its “inherent whiteness” as you say
and what does that even mean?
are you talking about picasso or stagecraft?
sure, good ol’ pablo loved to abuse his women
if you want violence it’s right there on the canvas for you buddy
also…where do you get off saying shit like that?
the violence
especially to the woman
you’re slurping noodles with this fine evening
is this some new millennial hipster
way to get someone into bed?
use a bunch of empathetic buzzwords
show her how woke you are
and then BAM! you’re both in the sack?
a part of me wishes she’d see through your bullshit
but i know america too well
and white dudes are masters are turning anything on its head to suit them
so she just sits there and empathizes with you
as if you were a wounded dear
and you’re doing a good job sitting there playing your part
eyes welling with tears and unable to finish your meal
with so many people going hungry
there’s a violence in wasting food too, you know
so maybe you should buck up camper
stop being the last, sad, white male liberal in america
pull yourself together and play on your phone
update your instagram with a couple of healing selfies
finish your dinner
steel yourself for whatever violence awaits you tomorrow morning
like if someone forgets to say good morning
or heaven forbid someone says god bless you instead
of gesundheit when you sneeze
second cousin jim
i get an email from my brother
entitled look who i ran into
attached is a picture of him
and our second cousin jim at an AA meeting
somewhere in pittsburgh
my brother makes the rounds at those things
it keeps him going
but second cousin jim isn’t coping so well
sixteen days sober after countless tries
after countless years in the system, jail and otherwise
living in a half-way house after living on the streets
he’s a far cry from the suburban football hero
who broke through banners
wore his hair long and dressed in nothing but tracksuits
like he was always going to the gym
instead of out to the bar or to score pills behind his wife’s back
addicts are good at hiding that kind of shit, my brother says
because he knows
sick and sweating in front of a computer
i sit back and think about all of the extra drinks
that i’ve lied to myself about
the little spit dumped in here and there
while caught in the glow of some after work album
the hidden bottles of vodka in duffle bags at christmas
hangovers that i play off as sinus headaches
try to picture myself at an AA meeting
with my brother and second cousin jim
but i don’t quite see myself sitting there just yet
i don’t know what it is about family…our family
booze and pills and gambling addictions
once my grandmother checked herself into western psych
after blowing her paycheck
on the devil and all his sins in one afternoon
in the end she died of whisky throat and cigarette lungs
maybe we’re all looking for a relevance
that the working world offered but never fulfilled to our kind
an escape from a family tree that wants to hang us
my brother says that second cousin jim
didn’t even recognize him at first
he says he took a picture with him because
he wasn’t sure he’d ever see jim alive again
i floated him a twenty, my brother said
even though he’s scraping by on two jobs
has child support for a daughter he mostly sees via skype
i sit here this morning
nursing the remnants of another night of vodka and wine
wondering what second cousin jim is going to do with that money
or if it even matters anymore
what’s twenty dollars after a life on the line?
after more failures and disappointments than your body can sum up?
a momentary reprieve at best
a chance to hit the streets but for an hour so
find some corner where you can run through those banners again
be the football hero everlasting
or feel the soft wind blowing through your long samson hair
as you take a hacksaw to that family tree
and cut
cut
cut
until you got no more to give.
guy in front of my kitchen window at 7:30 a.m. (saturday)
he’s usually shouting into his cell phone
something he forgot to tell the friend
who just dropped him back home from the graveyard shift
some dumb shit about movies or metal music
his voice makes all of the dogs in the neighborhood
bark in unison
half a dozen mangy fuckers taking their morning constitutionals
singing along to his rough cadence
i don’t know why he picks my kitchen window to stand in front of for this
could be he’s attracted by the soft light
or the smell of coffee brewing
honestly i’m at the age where i’m done trying to figure people out
i’ll just say that his voice is so loud i can’t do anything while he’s out there
write or read or take my own morning shit
he makes me wonder why i’m up so goddamned early in the first place
especially on mornings when i don’t have to go to the job
i used to open my window and stick my head outside
wanting to scream down at his ass or threaten him with a shovel
bark about the audacity of someone screaming so loud
before the sun is fully up in the ugly sky
but he’d just see me and nod and wave and say, what’s up, bro?
all genial and shit like we’re old college buddies
so i figured it was best to get let him finish his conversation
lest i be dragged into it over some triviality
or become a part of the noise pollution problem too
however, it is strange having someone else’s voice
in my apartment that early in the morning
when it’s typically just me and the hangover and john coltrane
strange to suffer this inanity as if it came with the monthly rent
i think an awful lot about moving
when he’s shouting out there so early
or when the dogs start to bark or their owners mill about
my living room window playing on their phones
leaving mounds of dog turds on the pavement
while they like some ex-lover’s instagram page
but i’ve been living in this shit-hole for over a decade now
the longest i’ve ever lived anywhere
before that it was three cities, three cars, countless jobs
and at least eight apartments
full of people every bit as annoying as this asshole
i’ve learned that you lose no matter where you go
i’ve learned that there is no solace from people in america
and that i’ve simply grown too tired and too old to move
so this morning while he’s out there
screaming over another morning dove’s song
i’ll just casually go by and close the kitchen blind
before he sees me and waves
take another bad book of poetry with me into the shitter
where some poet’s lines will give me such indigestion
i’ll pass gas like i’m moving thunder
so loudly
that maybe the guy standing in front of my kitchen window
at 7:30 in the morning
will hear it and comment to his buddy
like, holy shit, bro…. did you hear that?
or maybe he’ll finally get the hint
and take his show up a block or two
christen someone else’s saturday morning
over the plot of the new avengers movie
what was the best AC/DC album
or why it too so long for guns’n’roses to get it back together
……man.
apostates are we
another
morning
dead on arrival
hungover and hobbling
dodging dog shit
vomit and swirling trash
the sun such a merciless whore in the sky
even
the religious ladies
huddled at 53rd
with their good news pamphlets
and fast food coffee
won’t smile
and ask me
if i’ve made right
with good ol’
jesus christ.
