Apr/May 2014 Poetry

En Route

by Gabriella Belfiglio

Image courtesy of the British Library Photostream

Image courtesy of the British Library Photostream

En Route

If I could tell you what I meant
there would be no point in dancing it.

—Isadora Duncan

rainy day
brightest thing around the yellow
school bus driving grumpy children
through the morning—yield     one way     stop
advertisements screaming
instant superfine pure cane sugar

and my four year old Isadora says
I don't like the sun—
I like cloudy skies

at the corner teenagers with the smell of pot
in the air gather in a group to criticize passersby
if I looked like that,
I wouldn't leave the house

a mother shrieks toward the
pile of temper tantrum at her feet
first of all, I don't have
four arms—you want me to hit you
right here

I walk a little faster—
and the baby in the stroller
I'm pushing points out everything
he has a brand new word for
ball     car     cook-kie     shoe

blasting up the hill on a car radio:
What you want might make you cry
What you need might pass you by
If you don't catch it


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