Thursday, November 20, 2008

Pearl Street


The snow was wet and disappointing
Thin on the pavement like old man’s hair
And the sewers steamed

I walked dark, icy streets
Steps slow and steadfast
Streetlights like yellow cat eyes
And ragged bundle-beds of the homeless
Men were smoking cigarettes out back doors
Faces shiny with sweat and kitchen grease
Carrying their troubles in little bags under their eyes

Shaking my head
I blinked away visions
Shop carts and peasant people
Bells tolling on foggy bridges
Strained spies’ ears

Too little focus
Too much Charles Dickens.

1 comment:

Andrew Genius said...

I'm not a poetry reader, so I can never tell if you're adhering to a meter or doing anything technically fancy like that.

Are you?