Poem of the Day 10.03.08

cold chicken taco

hands
formless
can’t seem to grasp
anything
contemplating this
cold chicken taco
court street, brooklyn
with autumn turning
outside
and this woman
slamming into my chair
as one of her kids
wails
and the other screams
bloody murder
as businessmen come in
and talk about
their vacations
to yosemite, san francisco
about hiking trails
away from tourists
no one thinks they’re
a tourist
everyone is wrong
and the cold chicken taco
is laying in foil
that reflects my face
the day
both distorted
she smacks my chair again
slaps the one kid
shouts at the other
with a thick brooklyn accent
businesswomen come in
in packs
suffocating the place
with phones
with perfume
with asses fitting into
polyester pants
good asses
bad asses
fat ones
but i can’t seem to grasp
at anything
this day
the point of it all
why i got up
this chicken taco
getting colder
in the foil
while i wait
sleepless nights
and now the kids
are screaming and crying
and she smacks my chair
a third time
doesn’t apologize
gives them a time out
and holds up the seats
i don’t care
everyone stares
but they see nothing
go back to talking
about nothing
about cell phones
and hiking trails in yosemite
and i shove the
cold chicken taco
down
hoping it stays there
get up
part the crowd
toss my trash
head back outside
onto the busy street
wondering what the fuck?
looking for the nearest bar
with the best
midday prices
shoving my
hands
formless
can’t seem to grasp
anything
into pockets
that are beginning to
fray
from overuse.