…was imagining the letters I send being opened, read ….
…like that letters take time, even a week ….
Then, the drunk walks up beside me.
“My mother’ll be pissed.
“I’m her caregiver, understand?
“I slipped out of the house near midnight,
“Went to friends’ to party, drinking, a lot of beer.
“Here it is near six in the morning,
“Good I’m not driving,
“Got to get back,
“She’ll be pissed.
“She’ll wake me after I’ve slept only an hour.
“Got two trees to trim.”
Into the pasty dawn he walks.
I turn off.
A banker drives up, and says,
“A good system for us, banks.
“We make bad loans,
“Then, we get bailed out.
“A regular person is out of luck when losing money.
A skinny man in shorts steps near,
Machete in hand,
Ropes on shoulder,
Another tree trimmer.
“Bees, ants, scorpions, spiders,
“All have bitten me.”
So skinny, so thin,
Like the machete blade,
Like the ropes ….
Sweat , many forms it has.
Eugene “Gene” Novogrodsky, mid-May 2015
If you live beyond the automatic gate openers,
You might see:
A often-wasted F in black with a late teen in hand
Moving along, slumping along for some tripa;
He’s left his blues guitar;
He’s left his garish auto-design work;
He’s left his motorcycle,
Just moving along, slumping along;
Drugs kicking in ….
She’s compliant ….
Twitchy street walker,
Shoulder to shoulder bouncing bouncing – drugs;
She’s like to go for a walk,
Can’t take the quarter hour,
Might lose a customer ….
Rich middle-aged widow, the old husband dead,
Walking back down her driveway to a lake-view mansion.
Choices she has ….
Her hair, pulled back,
Also widow style ….
Have the funds,
To blind to:
The distant teen,
The streetwalker’s twitch,
The widow’s face ….
Eugene “Gene” Novogrodsky, late 2015, May
Night’s lit promise,
Night’s lit peak,
Night’s dim end,
The dead are.
And it’s New Orleans at 4:49 a.m.,
A half century ago,
The dead ….
Last stumble ….
Eugene “Gene” Novogrodsky, late May 2015