i was certain the benches
weren’t so warm as they
portrayed in impatient sleep
the newspapers they clutched
against their freezing arms to bat
off winter’s pervert grip fadingly told
yesterday’s stories, past glories of
d.c.’s now-crestfallen football team
and clinton’s never-resolved collapse
backs to the world
they stared through closed eyelids
at their gray bench’s cold, impartial wood
a fleeting paradise only in their dreams
of a warm meal and feelings
of accomplishment fresh in their veins
Author notes
On my way with my mother to her old job when I was younger. I always hated how she had to drive through some of D.C.'s shittier-looking parts.
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Comments
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that was skillfully done. if all of your poems are in chronological order, I can definitely see your experience growing. for me, this was one of those poems that make me wish I had written it myself.
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this absolutely amazes me, since the last time i read your poetry- your style has changed so much, and it's breathtaking
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Hey there; good to hear from you. How've you been?
Also, thanks. I just wish my style-changing would equate to skill-gaining, if that makes any sense.
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Perfect
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Loved the last stanza. There is something about those last three lines I relate to on a deep level, though not a specific level, if that makes sense. It's late, so it probably doesn't. lol
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