Random Acts of Poetry
Poor Reception
Picture an apartment with
a rusty fire escape in a city called
"Somewhere, New Jersey."
A man in a black T-shirt sits
smoking and chewing, watching
George W. in a blizzard of static.
"What now?"
the man asks a sleeping
dog at his feet.
The mutt growls and
twitches, the channel flips to
a woman eating a spider. "Hell."
The man runs down three flights
to the street, stops to watch
the moon rise over roofs,
its bewildered face a mirror of his own.
(This poem also appears in City Belt magazine)
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment
What's on your mind?