Oh when the shower runs and you're
awake it's morning in New York
you're visiting and wanting to chat
slouching and correcting your slouch,
yes it's morning, in this unknown Brooklyn
a Saturday with few clouds out
the window, mostly apartment buildings
while the scarves inside are wrapping
everything, even the walls,
draping paisleys and gilded colors
promoting brick or mauve-ish reds
and creams that make you think
of breakfast while returning
home is more than a day away --
that revolving door called home --
and again no clouds
it is fresh and a toddler cries
his dailiness like this morning table:
an eye patch, a bracelet, cuff links
a pen and a few pennies.
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2 comments:
andrew...how are you? thanks for the link and i really enjoyed the last few poems you posted. =)
cool poem, and thanks for sharing, but maybe you could explain some of it to me. Along with your thought process. I have mostly read poetry in a structured class with the background of the author and possible meanings attached.
-Novice poetry reader
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