the gasman pumps my fresh steed
Dumbo Cafe, March 19th, 2017
Two young women were sitting near me. They appeared to be studying and they sounded smart. My poetry meter peaked and so I asked. Usually I write the encounter and biography, but Hannah, a student at a localish college, provided me with her own:
Dancer, fledgling philosopher,
mover, lover…isn’t it all
poetry, creeping towards
death, leaping in to the light

the gasman pumps my fresh steed
with breath, resuscitates that which
for a year lurked patient in the
background of the biggest growth
spurt in my little life
soft hum, shiny lump of metal
& rubber & grease wait’s for me.
I always kind of knew what I
needed to make life in NY livable
but too poor, too stingy to shell out
200 clams I waited until it slapped
me in the face
In a mad attempt to taste
a glimpse of the undesired
future I hoisted you in to
a time capsule, last ditch.
Now sometimes you are all I
need, my dusty rusty noble
pushing me up and over hills,
just you, and me, and Goodbye
Yellow brick road
disregarded! Forgotten! Was it
U who chose I?

Read a poem by Johnny Lee

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