Tuesday, April 06, 2010

One City Block

Bundles of plastic blue, paper brown,
huddle at their feet,
so many children;
three women share hats, sweaters, cigs.

Spittle flumes from a man
astride a moped, four inches from her toe;
nice Italian leather.

The flag inches over the square,
glass glints between concrete pavers
in front of the post-office.
A tuft of dandelions bursts
past used works.

Wallet waving, a man chortles
a lithium-deprived laugh,
begs coins from the suited
dude proselytizing pamphlets;
no takers.

A short block.

The prompt of two photos did not inspire, but the short walk from the metro to my office did: all along the west Lex Market folks hustle their drugs, their bodies, their boosted goods. Homeless congregate, hoping for spare change. Patients from the methadone clinic down the street stumble along the sidewalk with glazed eyes. Lots of sadness along this derelict stretch.

Treat yourself to this witty flash COMPUTER EDUCATION by fellow Harbinger, fictionaut, blogger, friend John Wiswell over at Every Day Fiction. Good stuff.

Boston cream pie. Wasy. Corned beef and hash. Glenfiddich, two fingers, neat. Coffee dark with sweet-n-low. Sunrise on Ocracoke Sound. Watching Survivor with mom. Mowing the lawn. Playing with grandkids.

Just a few of your very favorite things. Happy Birthday, Daddy... we miss you...

Peace, Linda


  1. A lot packed into one block, and into one poem. It was alive with action and language. I really enjoyed it.

    Your little tribute to your dad left me with a lump in my throat.


  2. I agree with Laurita... especially about your Dad. I thought maybe you were writing about your own favourite things, until the last line.
    How wonderful that you know what your father loved so much.

  3. Thank you for reading. Yes, Tuesday was a tough day. Peace...

  4. Beauty and ugliness all mixed up. It's funny how language can do that: "Spittle flumes from a man
    astride a moped". This brought back New York in the 80's for me.

    Looking forward to our poetry game.