by Laurie Corzett
Or Maybe Cincinatti
and I am left in a sad corner
holding a wrinkled overcoat
wishing for warm holiday homecoming goodwill.
But the endless night enwraps my mind
leaving me twisted
jumping here and there without purpose.
Johnny didn't have a penny,
but he had good looks and good times
& Mary had her pimp's abortion to even the score
But no one took the beggar seriously
when he said that times had turned to emptiness.
No one believed in fulfillment;
no one had the time.
& the crowd dissolved
vanished into the fog
tho ectoplasmic energies milled about the mainfare.
It was Thursday in the rain and mist
and sooted brownstones.
And the streetlamps only served as muted halos
like the cafe neon flashing.
So I stopped in for another beer and borrowed music
& listened to the cuple in the next booth
discuss their barren lives
& thot of 19th century philosophers
who make me sad
& wished for a breezy bright beach in May
& wrote you another letter
to be locked in my diary.
So I'm thinking of splitting for the coast
or maybe Cincinnati
But my overdraft is overdrawn
and I'm not strong enough to hitchhike
and maybe tomorrow just won't happen
if I can find the right door to oblivion.
But maybe tomorrow will dawn bright and warm
and the labor pool will call me
and the coffee buns will be sweet at breaktime
and someone will smile at me
and come to my barstool
to shoot the breeze and share my dreaming
And the crowd will dissolve
And the people will emerge.