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Literature Text
city lights - sparks that fly off asphalt
of midsummer heat and humidity
after a third shower for the day,
I huddle in the open doorway
of a deli, partially hidden under
the striped awning, a neon sign
flickers in the display window,
the smell of warm pastrami on rye
entices passers-by to come in-
that's New York City for you;
the bustle of pedestrians racing
always against the signals, until
a cloudburst makes people gather,
temporary acquaintances in
every doorway while it comes down,
most will filter into the shop for
coffee and a blintz, or egg salad-
the street eerily bare at this moment
until a taxi pulls up and there you are,
wearing a summer trench that
falls open and collapses from the
vortex of your rush to get in-
hardly breathing, I watch in secret
as you bend low, rain beads from the
passing storm shimmer and hold fast
in your impeccably groomed hair,
I have the urge to join you, and
start to cross towards the curb
when a cop rushes up asking,
do I know what time it is-
I shake my head, looking past him...
why the hell doesn't he know,
I ask myself as he runs off,
he's a cop for christsake-
in quiet dread, I see the
cab pull away with you in it,
tires hissing on wet pavement,
steam rising from the exhaust-
I squint through the haze at the
fading tail lights, while holding
a soggy newspaper over my head
of midsummer heat and humidity
after a third shower for the day,
I huddle in the open doorway
of a deli, partially hidden under
the striped awning, a neon sign
flickers in the display window,
the smell of warm pastrami on rye
entices passers-by to come in-
that's New York City for you;
the bustle of pedestrians racing
always against the signals, until
a cloudburst makes people gather,
temporary acquaintances in
every doorway while it comes down,
most will filter into the shop for
coffee and a blintz, or egg salad-
the street eerily bare at this moment
until a taxi pulls up and there you are,
wearing a summer trench that
falls open and collapses from the
vortex of your rush to get in-
hardly breathing, I watch in secret
as you bend low, rain beads from the
passing storm shimmer and hold fast
in your impeccably groomed hair,
I have the urge to join you, and
start to cross towards the curb
when a cop rushes up asking,
do I know what time it is-
I shake my head, looking past him...
why the hell doesn't he know,
I ask myself as he runs off,
he's a cop for christsake-
in quiet dread, I see the
cab pull away with you in it,
tires hissing on wet pavement,
steam rising from the exhaust-
I squint through the haze at the
fading tail lights, while holding
a soggy newspaper over my head
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A moment in another decade; when WWII was finally over, and "noir" was the timepiece.
This is my "scrub" from the "spill" I wrote in response to #Wordspill-Central's bi-monthly prompt for July, "TIME".
8.2.10: featured here: [link]
7.13.10: featured here: [link]
This is my "scrub" from the "spill" I wrote in response to #Wordspill-Central's bi-monthly prompt for July, "TIME".
8.2.10: featured here: [link]
7.13.10: featured here: [link]
© 2010 - 2024 Jade-Pandora
Comments63
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Goodness! And I don't just mean the poem. One can almost hear the mournful music play.
And I just have to say, wow! I missed the good old days when they existed.
Beautiful scene.
k
And I just have to say, wow! I missed the good old days when they existed.
Beautiful scene.
k