Here, when the new season is just beginning, until new leaves bloom, on both sides of the Eastern Parkway Station near the Botanic Gardens , waste is burned on the mound, flaunting all our sad civilized rubbish. 1 can of coffee, does not contain lead 1 empty bottle of whiskey, the label faded from the rain 1 empty bottle of beer 2 empty bottles of bourbon 1 empty condom next to which passes 1 almost empty train empty empty empty If repeated many times, the word itself sounds ridiculous. The man in the alley uncertainly but stubbornly carries his morning load, leaning against the wall, leading his hand along the line, greasy, red, as he passes a can of coffee bottle of beer condom beer fire by faded bricks and jagged cement to empty the bladder in the gloom of a light-filled morning in something like loneliness, for some reason necessary. Sum. The cold of a winter morning in the spring, when it is cold, until the mood is raised, and the sun rises, and there are no rules according to which the dead are rewarded. My gaze penetrates the empty backyards, my backyards Oh, I love you. backyard, I entice you and you, my barren, clogged mounds, now that you have a little heat and fire to keep warm and clean, be thankful that people are still caring for you, still snatching your weird waste from your weird slopes. Poor Brooklyn soil poor American land poor cowardly houses poor hurricanes of streets, your underground and aboveground life somehow lasts all the same, under garbage that is really a rejection, with alienated, awkward, unthinking citizens who will become less unhappy, happier, freer if they empty their blisters near some shitty wall. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FACE ON THE [BAR-ROOM] FLOOR by HUGH ANTOINE D'ARCY THE NEED OF BEING VERSED IN COUNTRY THINGS by ROBERT FROST A PROPHECY by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR KEENAN'S CHARGE by GEORGE PARSONS LATHROP IMITATIONS OF SHAKESPEARE by JOHN ARMSTRONG THE COMING by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE |