The shy, reticent poet

        quietly watching

for any inspiration

          cautious observations

                   of people

       footing through

               urban chaos


     looking around

              watching out

for # 1

   the business man

       the street hookers


feeling and hitting up

              the tourists

     for a buck or two

with hope for future

             with dreams

     for renewal

          mayors and unions

     in picket line

      fighting over

            this or that

        & my eyes seeing

    it all gone down

            with unbridled interest

Mind gone astray

        seeing only

      a few pretty women

   and it’s Saturday

           & shops open

      restaurants emitting

   their pleasant fragrances

      to offset urine

    on skyscraper walls

The shit & blood

          is passed off

                  as typical

       of the city

18th & Walnut Street 

         Chinese & fast food

     all Asian fantasy

seeing urban dwellers

       drifting by

    & hearing

       police sirens

   chatter on

         the evening air

unspoken all the thoughts

         just milling around

   observe & record

          all the events

       unfolding before

                my eyes

roses sold; audio tapes

        on a sidewalk

street lights turning


      eluding motorists

           & all seems

                so absurd

         in some surreal

                sort of way

but the city of Franklin

                  & liberty

          is unchanged

      from a week ago

but the cobblestone streets

         of Colonial times

    are forgotten

       the wretched smoke

    & exhaled fumes

         of automobiles

     are replacing

the quest for independence

          with all the

       games played out

           circumstantial evidence

    to the contrary

tired of visions

     & glances caught

  from other folks

        just stay under control

     avoid any

          kind of fraud

     or danger

no oral vocal display

     but words

    singularly expressed

         onto the page

     in mock form

of communication


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allets's picture


A city. Any big city. History walled like graffiti. The poet's meadow. "It was my first sunflower." A walk as a journey. "cautious observations"? And then the pen falls to the page.  - one of yr better spillings. ~allets~



georgeschaefer's picture

I've spilled a lot over the

I've spilled a lot over the years and yet the glass keeps getting replenished