I catch myself cursing quietly, 2 BROZ PIZZA
I struggle to find a solution for the oil stain on my shoe.
I struggle to find a solution for the oil stain on my shoe.
All the fat, sticky, disgustingly colorful people watch me
As I pretend to enjoy the bitterness of my cigarette drag
Why must we enjoy
shit thrown in our faces?
Why do we pretend to enjoy it?
The connection lightly brushed my face
As the stench of garbage stuffed itself into my nose
Hot humid day on St Marks street
I stepped away from this filthy paradise
It finally hit me
Pocket sized Marlboro, Call Me Maybe
Why must we pretend?
2012.
Kimon,
ReplyDeleteIn the third line of your poem “St Marks” you wrote “All the fat, sticky, disgustingly colorful people watch me,” and to that I say nicely done in capturing O’Hara’s “arrogant tone.” Also nice job on using specific references, “2 BROZ PIZZA,” and “St Marks street,” which I think could be considered very New York-centric (much like O’Hara writing his Lunch Poems based in New York). That being said I felt a little like I was left searching for more, and by that I mean your poem could have been expanded upon by using more specific details (by the way, you may not feel that to be true, which I feel is your right as the artist). Otherwise, I really enjoyed reading your poem, and I’m left interested in who should “call [you] maybe,” and maybe more of that intriguing relationship could be “peppered” throughout your poem.