Life in New York: A Collection of Poems, Part 1

Hey Fatty

I saw two pigeons on the street today.

One fat and mean, putting on quite a display as he kept the other,

small and lean with shiny black feathers, from eating.

It reminded me of us when you took everything in the world from me.

Except for my hot body.  Enjoy your meal.

Fuming

Oh Gods of despair!

Your anger wafting across my universe like smoke,

hot with anger, 

punishing me for transgressions of which I have not yet even thought.

Your disdain as pungent as the smell of sizzling bacon.

I wish my stove had a fume hood. 

Taco Meat On An Armpit Shell

 Your body, so close to mine.

Your heat invading my senses, reminding me of sweltering nights in the tropics,

sweaty skin intermingling under glaring lights that

distract me from anything but you and me.

Left and right we sway, our bodies bumping, grinding,

faster, faster we move, then STOP! 

"I'm sorry, we are delayed due to train traffic ahead of us."

I look at you, and you look at me, and all I can think to say as our

dance comes to a close is,

"You smell like cumin and unwashable angst."

The next stop is 42nd Street Times Square.

Waiting

 As I climb the stairs, I know you are there - waiting.

You seem to feel my presence as soon as I rise up out of the subway

like a pharoah from a dank tomb, losing and then 

finding eternal life each day.

I open the door and, in your excitement, you try to run.  

"No!", I plead.  "Don't leave me", and you stay.

Your love for me envelopes me like a warm, fuzzy blanket.

And then, together, we clean your litter box.

Stuck

You.  Stuck.  Caught in a trap of your own desires.

I open the door to your nightmare and stare -

down into the bulging, black clouds that surround you,

taunting you with memories of your capture.

Do not touch mice attached to this sticky trap.

And I close the door, unable to look at you

and unable to put you out of your misery.

C-Town Princess

C-Town Princess, with your tapestry hair,

dancing to Caribbean beats

second hand from a cassette.

M'lady with the moving belt,

where meats and sticky things do tread

without a second glance for your own safety.

My destiny depends on your decisions. 

Meat in a separate bag please.