Accumulating Days That Lead To The Grave
In my mind,
I value the Easter Sunday life:
The resurrection
Of the spring sunrise,
The flowery parks and paths,
The children dressed
In their church school best.
But none of that life is me,
I’m the solitary soldier
Of the decaying urban streets
Breathing in the car exhaust
Of the common defeat;
I’m the midnight observer
Of dark poetic scenes:
I’ve seen violent dykes
Take off theirs tops
And threaten to fight
Until they kissed and made up;
I’ve seen a female wino
Face a storefront and scream
And then say her rosary,
Then retreat with boyfriends,
The bearded man with the mousy squeak
And the cowboy Elvis wannabe
To a dirty car
Where sexual transactions did transpire.
I’ve stood in oil and urine pools
Flirting with the saddest prostitutes,
I’ve patiently listened to the same snow job
From the same con man three times
In the same disoriented week
And fell for it at least twice.
I don’t make judgments
About any of this vice,
I just keep looking for meaning
In the accumulating days
That lead to the grave.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
Added by Poetry Lover
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