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Click hereConcrete poured and steel
beamed the only grass here
parked central to a thousand
glass eyes watching the world
half-lidded rectangulated
behind terra-cotta flowerpots
car ballets dance en glissade
symphonies beep conducted
in red green blinks changing
faces come go but keep
moving talk like belonging
somewhere so Pippa passes
and God's in an after hours
club on 52nd Street waiting
drinking Campari and Soda
I don't know meadows canyons
horses trot steaming past
dawn and brownstone stoops
rain shined the patently black
avenues slicked and squeaking
down to caverns to turnstiles
tokens pass the day swallowed up
roaring forward I don't know
the nature of open sky I know
cityscape geography I know you.
This poem was mentioned in the Archival Review thread, in a picking through Lit's archive of over 35,000 poems.
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Another exquisite vision of life in the city, the Big City, NYC, of course.
Hey Ange,
Wanna come out and play with words? Bring yours cause you got lots more than me and they stack nicer.
Unfortunately, when we arrive, it always does.
Good imagery and word play/use. You capture city life seemingly effortlessly.
The way you use line breaks creates a stutter-step that somehow increases the poem's intensity/veracity and doesn't detract from the way it reads as might be expected.
Well done
Growing up on a farm, raising sons in the city, I want them to know that tomatoes do not come from the back of a white truck on the shoulders of a husky man, but then again, I never knew that is where tomatoes went when they left the field....
You captured the rich diversity of experiences we can have living in different environments-- nice job Angeline.