poem of the day 11.17.14

in december 1992

the wild

the innocent

the e street shuffle

playing through grainy headphones

on a tapped-up

walkman

that has seen the face-end

of more concrete

than me

one foot of snow on the ground

covering feet

and shins

springsteen’s voice

right like youth

like me

youth incarnate

for now

eighteen years old

boosted cigarette in my mouth

heading toward

the campus of a million coeds

from lowly

suburbia

1993

coming with a bullet

that’ll turn out to be

just another nothing year

with my heart

broken all over the city

of pittsburgh

but i

don’t even know it yet

in this

a portrait of the artist

december 1992

puffing

my old man’s menthol kool

as the snow

consumes me

waiting at

the bus stop

freezing the good year

peering into warm cars

stopped at red lights

looking for

another saint

but laughing

laughing like a drunk

joyous

after an old lady

glares at me

locks her door

yells to her husband

to run the

red light

which

of course

he

does.