I didn't mean to post this poem. I'm not sure it's done but I did want to be able to post work that was in the process.
Silk City
Silk City
There’s nothing special about a Red Wheel Barrel.
We try to make it so
but it isn’t all that special;
rain drips from it
big deal.
That scenery is dreadful,
but maybe that’s just cuz
I’m thinking of Paterson now
not Williams’ Paterson of the 20’s & 30’s.
Now, to think of a Red Wheel barrel
in Paterson,
it would have to be hidden
amongst other forgotten metal clutter,
car fenders,
broken sinks,
a dilapidated tire.
Now, to see a red Wheel Barrel in Paterson
the fact its redness could still be noticed
among the trash—
the garbage strewn in the gutter;
that one could even focus enough
to see a red wheel barrel
while the music blares out of people’s cars,
screams out their windows,
curtains seem to wave the notes out
the 2nd story apartment
above a bodega.
If I could find and see a red wheel barrel
thru all that cacophony
of any American city,
that’s seen its better days
—that’s beautiful.
