memories of East 99th Street

Songs of light fading to shadow. The intrinsic emptiness of all things...

1. after ballet at the Met

Barry and his boyfriend

argued in the kitchen

about

who should touch my hand

and who should simply flirt

my American wife laughed loudly

as I blushed

she said

this is unbelievable

f*****g unbelievable

2. black snow

Jersey ashes fell in flakes

through Manhattan's Summer air - 

kitchen roaches

slow motion

running from the light

3. vacation

the woman upstairs said

I'm driving to California -

keep an ear out for burglars

it should be okay

there's a diamond grill on the window

when I called the police

they broke down the door 

but the robbers, I guess,

like me, were afraid of Big Guns

and had taken the best and fled

they'd cut round the frame

that lay on the floor

the bars still intact

4. together

you held me

under the black umbrella

as we stood on the roof

and talked about stripping

making love in the rain

we didn’t

we knew that someone would catch us

what a waste

nobody came

5. out of another era

it was hot

I sat on the steps

with some guy I had met

getting pizza

he offered me 500 dollars

to take a parcel to Paris

nothing illegal

a gift from his friend

that had to be taken by hand

when I gave my wife

the name of his friend

she picked up her copy of Time magazine

he even looked like a gangster

straight from some

black and white movie

6. links

I took the old lady for Autumn walks

in her wheelchair

to give her some company

and get some money

to pay back the Greek

who gave me free pizza

when nothing but holes

weighed down my pockets

we skimmed the history

of Native Americans

looked at the bones of their past

when the French, the Spanish

the English,

the brand new Americans

came like an ice age

and crushed them

she'd written a book - 

I read it for hours in the pizza parlour

just to stay warm

when they cut off the power

and the fridge defrosted

and icicles kissed the pipes

and unpapered the walls

7. failed American

we split in the Spring

after the thing with the

Puerto Ricans

you're a dreamer, she said

no-one makes money from poems

or writing a book with no end - 

get a job or go home

I thought of slitting my wrists

but came back to England instead

8. nothing without me

at the time

these pictures had meat

I hungered for life

and they filled my belly

now they’re just scraps on a plate

fading to things

I think I remember

they became me

they travel with me

they end with me

Reviews

Black - thanks for your comments. That's one of the things I love about poetry: the way it allows the poet to express the same thing in so many different ways

[Black]

real nice imaginary,
though the word choice would be different with me
i like the way you express your feelings