“Lazy”: A poem by Avi Hoen


by Avi Hoen

I’ve gotten lazy
stopped putting my shoes on
when walking just
so I can feel the rough pavement
because cars don’t drive here often
and the bones in my heels pound
to the
gasoline dripped streets and
the white line that separates
where we drive from where we live
but my feet can’t tell the difference
since they have walked along here
before and they are callused
I don’t feel the stones anymore
and I’ve stopped feeling the
burnt out butts of cigarettes and the
cat litter spilled by the garbage men but
my bare toes still trip
over the picket fence nails
that have fallen into the streets
because they used to hold the wood but
thats decomposed and they aren’t rusting yet
so bored, they pop tires of trucks
and get stuck in paws
but since I’m aware I notice them
and although I still trip I
don’t get bit by the fangs of last
decades façade since
separation isn’t used or
at least we wish it wasn’t but
now we don’t aknowledge it like
back then when it was clear cut spinning
like vinyl records,
either touched by the diamond or not
So my shoes lay on the street for
someone else’s feet