Monthly Archives: August 2014

Pig Iron

The rusted rickety shopping cart rolls down Fulton Street
The conductor’s eyes are cast down and his shoulders slump
Shards of architect’s ideas weigh him down in scraps and snips
He senses the presence of the foreigners – but still will not look up

These people will never push a cart full of pig iron across these pot holed streets
These people will never dig into a dumpster on south Ashland Avenue for food
These people will never feel the burning pain of hunger or the reminders of failure
These people don’t belong on Fulton Street west of Ashland on recycling day

Love is brutal she said

Love is brutal she said
Like a big knotted fist
In the mouth of a baby

If I can’t kiss you
Let the fist do its worst
Love will break your teeth for you

Love digs into your skin she said
Like that old kitchen appliance
That splits your tender fingertips

If I can’t touch you
I have no use for these fingertips
Love will split them for all they’re worth

Walk Me Through Your Peru

Walk me through your Peru on a summer’s morn
Where the distant echo of the trumpet
From the wrinkled trunk of the massive
Invisible elephant fills your soul
Bringing you back to greasepaint and dreams
Bringing you back to calliopes and sawdust

Take me beyond the crushed peanut shells
And the sticky sweet smells of caramel corn and candied apples
And the haze of danger looming overhead without a net

Walk me through your Peru on a summer’s afternoon
Show me the bountiful table with golden fried chicken
And corn-on-the-cob that glistens and green beans so fresh they snap
Corn bread with some lumps in it – gravy with none
And a tall cold glass of milk

Walk me through your Peru on a summer’s evening
Deliver me at last to the star-filled night
Where we lie on our backs and connect the constellations
You hand in my hand – my heart in your hand
On our backs in the tall grass – gazing up to the heavens
Gazing up from your Peru