alfie lee writing

 

breaking up

blinded for a moment by the sun
mirrored off an office window
she said to me he said to me
you know i think we’re through
across the street
the cries of children i cannot see
screech past rush hour traffic

steam off the hotdog cart on Broadway
and Liberty sweet sting of mustard
beggar my appetite and a taxi
cab crawls by with a honk
behind skyscrapers and sky
vaulting across hood and glass
figure he'd try his luck
but really where was he in my hour of need?

the plumpest pigeons in the world
go about their business tripping
columns of summer tourists touts and traders up on
the sidewalk past an old crone swathed
in filthy winter's rags black trash bags bones
hunched head slumped mouth
twisted lips eyes shut up



                                                               

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