Breakfast on a Stormy Day In the Boho Zone
Water picked up
In the south pacific fell
In big soaking drops
Noisily in the street.
The wind rattled the trees
And tore the posters
Half off the telephone pole
To flap in the breeze
Like wounded birds.
Fashionable young things
Struggled with rebellious umbrellas
As they crossed the street in
Ridiculous shoes.
The sky was full
Of cranes and steel clouds
But no birds
And the buildings
That weren't being built
Were being demolished
Or waiting quietly,
Heads bowed,
To be demolished.
The Comet Tavern
Was closed, sleeping off
Yet another late night.
But the Odd Fellows
Was open smelling
Of decay like my grand parents
Brooklyn apartment.
As I sat in a cafe
Drinking strong coffee,
Eating scrambled eggs
An old timer came in
His bald head, his face
Covered in tattoos.
The neighborhood
Won't last long now
I never thought I would miss it
But I already do.
A green garbage truck
Rolls slowly by.
Poetry by Budart
Read 997 times
Written on 2013-02-22 at 21:27
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