POEM 038/100

October 25, 2012

If I died this afternoon


—let us imagine I will be jostled off this subway platform

grimy with spilled coffee and chewing gum

into the path of an oncoming train

which causes several hundred people

{such as this guy berating the battery in his phone for being dead}

to arrive late for dinner

in snippish moods with insults perched of their tongues

ready to leap into the hearts of those seated across the table


my life would have amounted to

give or take

adjusted for inflation

somewhere in the ball park of



Well, big deal

this is not a particularly tragic or unusual truth

after all even when the most celebrated actor

shuffles off this stage they’ll leave only smudged footprints

behind them in the spotlight

and the audience


—already in an uncharitable mood

as she believes her date has stood her up

once more

for the last time


simply because he forgot to charge his phone

so can’t explain how the subway has been delayed

due an “injury at track level”

surely she’s heard about it

happens all the time in this city

Well, she hasn’t

but luckily she is in possession of the tickets

so doesn’t have to wait for him in the October drizzle

just five minutes more

{he’s just around the corner now}

and is able to put her coat and bag in his empty seat

which is kind of nice, actually,

and on her other side is a young man

cute, in a malnourished sort of way,

whom she nudges with her wedgy elbows and —


mutters conspiratorially about how dusty the stage had gotten

during that last dreary, interminable, unfocussed, trite monologue


—did the producers really think they wouldn’t notice?

she asks her new friend

who glances down, uneasily

at the hand she’s placed on his forearm

an action which obliterates from his mind

before he can fully wrestle with

the meaning behind the actor’s monologue—


None of our lives

{or deaths}

have been

{or will be}

particularity tragic

{or unusual}

or meaningful

{or meaningless}


But today

on this subway platform

grimy with spilled coffee and chewing gum

this truth bothers me a great deal about myself

POEM 037/100

October 15, 2012

While our society endlessly debates

the definitions of love and marriage,

no one is working on a word to describe

the sour milk smell of poverty


POEM 036/100

October 11, 2012

I haven’t a clue

what’s currently at the cinema

or what television shows are popular this season

or what might be the names of any of these cars I see on the road.


Wafting in the lake breeze at dusk

is a hint of sewage and smoke and rotting leaves.

POEM 035/100

October 2, 2012

Her clothes

look so unhappy

to be worn by her

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