Sunday, December 30, 2012

Pittsburgh- 4

The texture of snow is grainy
when you let it slip through your
fingers, not quite pristine, a dirty grey
where it touches the worn out streets

it can numb your fingers and
hurt your ears to make you understand
why strangers lower their heads while
walking, as if in deference

but the old man in 58 is undaunted
his eyes dart from side to side
to settle on the man sitting across
are you married, he calls out

four years now, the man responds
you be careful, chuckles the old man
I have known friends who came back home
to find their wives with their lovers

the teasing sun is out now to caress
us all through the windows but we
bow our heads anyway, not wanting
any more conversations with strangers.

No comments:

Post a Comment