April 25th poem

Sunday, April 25, 2010

Today Was Cold April Sunday

Walking under the arms of new full leaves in the spitting drizzle,
everybody-- even the kids and dogs-- looked hungover.
It's still drizzling on the subway. A man is taking my picture
with his phone, or watching porn on his phone, or reading
text messages. Later I see him in the potatoes at the store.
A lady there follows me, walking in front of me and stopping
to block my way at the ends of aisles. Back home the sky
glows violet gray in my kitchen. My soup barely turns out.
Every single time I look at the clock today,
it's 52 minutes past the hour.


  1. My Sunday felt like that, too, but without the subway...what is it about Sundays?

  2. I don't know. Mine was particularly Sunday-ish. I think the "yay-it's-spring-and-warm-PSYCH!" weather didn't help one bit.


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