Encounter
At the corner of my
minds eye and Broadway
he stands one hand shoved deep into
worn pockets empty of change
the other clings to tattered will work
for food or love sign
around hopes corner her
silver mercedes rips black pavement
into shreds breaking hearts
hitting the mud puddle at 85 mph
he's drenched but she's
got her venti frap by 4 pm.
June 20, 2008
Questionable
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3 Comments:
I know 'her' and her humanity is indeed questionable...
Welcome back! You were gone so long the Island's Akismet spam filter didn't 'recognize' you immediately.
...Rob ;)
I'm not quite the Yuppie that she is. Still, I'm guilty of not always seeing the people that I should see.
Thank You for a fine poem!
really like this, great portrait
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