Nothing New
Rusted door along the Resevoir
In lieu of original writing today, I thought it would be fun (fun for me, anyways) to post one of those half-finished poems from way-back-when in Poetry Month, way-back-when I was still living in an outer borough and longing not to be.
The "fun" part of this for me is two-fold: (a) I'm off the hook for producing new blog content, and (b) it's encouraging to see how much can change in 5 months. What surrounds me now looks quite a bit different than what surrounded me back in April.
One day, one day I will write some fresh thoughts about life as I know it on the isle of Manhattan.
Stay tuned. Until then...
Brooklyn Follies
The co-habitators upstairs fight
more often than not he
hurls f-bombs like rocks at she
followed by stomping and slamming as
their lostness echoes down the stairwell.
I find chicken bones and chocolate cake
batter on the kitchen floor
grape jelly on the refrigerator door
jam, queso crusting pots and pans as
evidence of my nocturnal roommate who
makes messes and meals at odd hours.
Hipsters wearing costly ugliness hope to
look effortless while families push
strollers up the steep slope looking
anything but; we’re all trying to hold
it together out here - I’d just prefer to be
broken down on the other side of the river.
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