Notes From the Village
Bleecker Street
just before
October dawn,
Winking
corner stoplight
flashing only red
to vacant Sunday
streets,
Old newspaper
Blowing,
unread,
down empty sidewalk
of hangover morning,
Gusts of New York
Puffing down sad alleys
Of broken amber glass,
Poor kitty,
Mad with fright,
Poor kitty,
Hidden from sight.
Hands in my pockets,
Coat collar high,
i bow into the
Callous autumn wind,
Past the frigid lights
And locked doors
Of last night’s
Cafes,
Yesterday’s
bookstalls,
Smells of impending
Rain waft through
Red brick
And hang like
Moldy rags
Above the lamp posts.
Facing the creaking
Branches of
Washington Square,
I see old friends’
Faces in
The yellow-orange
[...] Read more
poem by Terry L. Young
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