This my 100th post, my how time fliesGray silted clouds jotting across
the skies like scud missiles, WALK
DON”T WALK, the sign blinks.
A herd of blue-haired women carrying
Bloomingdale bags stand at the corner,
but I am the color of
asphalt dark and oily. “Can you tell
me how far the museum is?” A woman
rasps like dried seaweed. I don’t know,
I’m a tourist, I say, I don’t belong.
Drivers hurl curses at me as I run
across the street. A sign blinks,
DON’T WALK
4 comments:
If I didn't know you were in Texas, I'd swear you were in Boca Raton!
100 posts? It doesn't seem like it has been very long. Congratulations! This poem is excellent. My favorite is "I am the color of / asphalt." And I love how you incorporate the street sign.
Oh, kind of say, a wisp of dusk
circling around day, much too
early.
Another fabulous piece. You have such a way with imagery that immediately brings the scene alive and plays in the minds eye. xo
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