Poetry
by John Grey
A Very Covid Times Square
Where is the crush
of crowds of every color?
The yellow taxis
making five lanes out of three?
Its New York,
the cauldron of civilization.
But what use is an inferno
if no ones getting burned.
Near fare-less buses
crawl down the avenues.
Subway smoke
puffs through the grid,
looks around,
sees no one.
A black preacher
dozes on a shuttered stores step,
with his Bible for a pillow.
No ones selling
knockoff Gucci bags.
Or books
that fell out of the back
of a library.
I say to myself, Poof
and a sidewalk full of people vanishes.
This is a kind of limbo
where words hide behind masks
and flashing neon signs
cant even give their glitter away.
A chicken suit,
a woman with painted breasts,
await someone to take their picture
for a small fee.
I didnt bring my camera.
I was afraid it might help me
remember this.
Our Burdens
With great joy, I bear
this feather up the hillside,
with the ones carrying anvils,
logs and large rocks,
lagging far behind.
It is a feather from
the injured bird I found
and nursed back to life.
Meanwhile, the anvil people
cussed and gambled,
the log folks sinned under the sheets,
and the rock army drank and brawled.
I reach the top
with the ease of a winged creature,
let my feather go,
watch it taken by
the winds, the updrafts,
and float up to the clouds.
And then I look down
on all these others
as they struggled
with their weights.
I look down
on all the good times
I stupidly missed out on.
And you wonder why
I cant stand birds.
At The Market
Mutts with ribs showing
hang out in the marketplace,
sniffing for scraps.
There are no handouts.
Everything scavenged
is either dropped or thrown away.
They dare not steal
for a kick in the side
could break the bones
that they parade
so prominently.
A young boy,
just as hungry,
will grab something
from a stall
if the opportunity arises.
If caught,
an angry vendor
will have him dragged off
and beaten
by the law.
Boys arent treated
the same as dogs.
Differing cruelties
make that clear.
No Good Page One
I swear to you
I love all women
except, that is,
for the one who was no good.
That should have been her name.
No Good, late of this parish.
No good, pacing up and down in the front room.
No good when we had even less than I have now.
No good when I remember the times
Sure her old man deserted her when she was seven.
And her mother sometimes turned tricks on the side.
And I have no wish to put myself high above her.
But to get down to her level?
Thatd take a legless limbo dancer.
No good lips, whether kissing or talking.
No good smile.
Head as off-kilter as a failed space mission.
No good spending hours curled up in the arms of some guy.
And making him feel good.
If thats not no good then what is?
Or whats not?
No good like springs no good.
All that brilliant emergence.
It throws a man.
It starts his engines unexpectedly.
It squeezes his horizons together like testicles.
No good for making my resistance so useless.
No good for lining my life with palms and flowers.
No good for making me eager.
For functioning like a man.
For holding me up.
For paying so much no good attention to me.
She never could fizzle like a bad date does.
She couldnt just be a weak storm.
She had to make it powerful and personal.
No good for making me stumble.
No good for all that substance and light.
No Good Page Two
No good when the sun rose.
No good when it set.
No good a thousand miles away.
No good when as close as my spirit.
And extra no good for always coming to my rescue,
for surprising me just so I could surprise myself.
No good for taking me as her subject.
No good for those swirling troughs that sucked me under.
No good for tapping into my intuition.
No good for making me feel good.
No good for that technical innovation
leaving me forever in tears.
No good for making me think,
even after all these years,
that she was plain no good.
I'm Glad You Asked
How can you live
with bombs exploding in your ear,
She merely shrugs her shoulders.
You get used to it.
Rut when everybody knows someone
who's a victim of this war,
how can you even think of getting
close to people.
More shrugging.
What else is there but people.
How do you plan for anything
when everything is blowing up around you?
You play it by ear...
where the bombs are..
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