Stainless Steel
No home, he says,
eyes sliding up the side
of my cheek, glancing off.
He means this-does-not-hurt-me
but I feel the icicles
gather there.
He grins and I build
stainless steel curves
spanning tumbling rivers,
morning touching skyscrapers
in a galloping race of fire,
window-boxes with neat rows
of coloring-book perennials,
a guitarist, a curb-side
case filled with absent quarters.
He speaks and I crush glitter-snow
into muddy gutters; I paint
shadowy entranceways, corner
restaurants with tottering old waiters
and pizza dripping shimmering grease.
His hand against my shoulder
is split-second recognition
on crowded streets, neon puddles,
a spider-web of echoing
subway caves.
When zippers chase themselves
around his bags, he sees distant
billboards and hesitates;
He leaves, streetlights winking out
across my eyes.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
