Pigeons Aren't the Only Obstructionist
The whiskers on my face
are spreading vicious
rumors after five
'bout the obvious ejection
and possible retirement
of my razor to the back
of a dirty and crud filled tub
-the kitchen table is
feeling a bit melancholy
with empty whiskey bottles
lined up in the apparent
chronological order
of their alcoholic demise
while according to the proof
listed on their
peeled off labels
they seem to be discussing
the lack of any formal
seating arrangements
for this evening's
unrehearsed entertainment
beat street poetry reading
live at nine-
-the street whores are gathering
out on my brick and concrete stoop
they're dressed in red and purple
skimpy neoprene injected tubes
and it's got the pigeons
all cooing over who'll
get to go first
as some sanitation workers
in white jumpsuits
with pockets full of
clean money to spend
search for sloppy seconds at best
in a big green dumpster's
discarded contents-
-when one of them suddenly shouts
'Hey, somebody give me a hand'
He's spotted a cheap wrist watch
with a body still attached-
I turn a deaf ear still connected to a dead head
-as some hooker leaned in my doorway
and just asked me to have a dance
but the needle tracks in her arm
look like the pecker tracks on my pants
And baby I'm here to tell you
That 'smack and crack' will leave
the one who brought you to the dance
I smile and she falls out into the hall
[...] Read more
poem by Ted Sheridan
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
