My Street

So I thought I'd include a poem by the writer I went to the workshop with a few weeks back, since I bought a book of his poetry and everything. I think this one is my favourite: My Street.

~~~~~

Here on this fabulous street
where I am never alone, the deaf man,
not the dumb man, wired,
my ears full of microphones:
the tick of streetcars tracking by
as a crowd gathers to enter
the fantastic purple walls of a night club.

But the show begins in the street
when Katie the barker yells:
"cock, fuckass, police"
and a man in black leather
with a steel hook for a hand
spears an apple for his girlfriend.

And between the tattoo parlour
where the bikers drill their arms
with skulls and daggers
and the window of Sister Waneita, Reader of Stars
where a tiger tabby crouches among the snake plants,
a man who resembles Karl Marx directs traffic
and curses the buses that roar back
while Jimmy and his pal Roberto
race electric wheelchairs down opposite sides of the street.

And the Portuguese huddle to mass
while a fat hooker drops into an expensive Ford
and a shirtless man driven towards somewhere
slamdances into the crowd that parts for him
as Gibson the blind guy peddles sunglesses
and whistles at all the girls
and yells: "Baby, I can smell you're beautiful."

And a man with no legs
knuckles his way on a wheeled board
then tucks it and ascends the stairs
with a swagger that has legs
into the Galaxy Donut Shop
to drink with the man with no arms
who upends a cup with his teeth.

And the beautiful man who plays guitar
with a withered hand,
the women buy his poetry and he blesses them.
On this street, the droolers laugh
at the scab-armed girl who burns herself
and she laughs back.
The cleft argue with the mute in furious wet sputters.
When we greet you on my street
we look for your wires
your scars.

-Bruce Hunter

~~~~~

I'm not up for a dissertation tonight, so I'll just say that it makes me want to go there.

Posted by Andrea at April 7, 2006 7:18 AM under Friday Poetry Blogging

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