L Train, Bedford Avenue to Union Square, June 11th, 2014
I asked Severino, my co-teacher, to detect a poet on the platform. Before he answered I spotted Rios. No doubt about it, he had a poem in him – two it turns out. It was “a sign” that I had asked, he said, since he had just left a kitchen job to focus on being an artist. It was a sign to me too. The dry spell was over. The poets were out again and my forehead door, as one poet had described it, was open.
thinking about
pale green trees
and brick structures.
A fog in the air
but more like a steam
Why is it that
the melancholy
atmosphere
Appeals more
than sunny days?
Which remind me only
of plastic cups
discarded on the street
Poem 2
Pleased to be approached
as a poet
But sad
to be labelled a man
When will my internal world
Bleed
into daily life?