Poems by New Yorkers on holiday posting from Fuel in the Berkshires, July 1st, 2014
I’ve seen him at Fuel many times, always thoughtful, always with a dog-eared book in hand. A serious young man, a writer.
Cheekbones like crowbars
Pushing out horizontally from muscle
This table like a desert,
All life sunken and bland
Under these leftovers of ourselves,
The centimeter of coffee in your cup,
Accidentally revealing and recovering the white bottoms
Hushing at the downcast tips
Of the newspapers on the tables,
The fear stricken in the back,
Clinging to decaf and perpetual wonder
Wishing for time
To gain