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You are in: Travel poems [ More Travel poems ]On the Street (Started March 21, 1995)The couple drinking or spooning the longest, richest,
thickest drinks are from New York - you can tell - or maybe Florida. It's the
white legs that look like tusk, white ivory, but not pure and appealing like a
maiden of youth, grey and pallid like the sickness of cosmopolitan, city denial. One is sitting legs folded under her, long
lashes of hair fall in a self-concealing way, like the ear-pieces of a Roman
sentry's helmet, to protect, to help make her disappear at the most embarrassing
moments. Her friend is more relaxed, looks but may not be, older. The friend is
wearing a baseball cap the right way round, this even seems notable for a girl
in the reverse of the gang uniform-become-fashion that is so common, and she is
fuller, a body more pliant and lush, less stretched and tense. Passing time,
that's what they do, that's what they have to do here, there's not so much else
at that age (oh bull!) when it's all, every minute, every second of that minute, all day
every day and sometimes all night, peak performance "what's happening?". Strange
as I think that, because I think suddenly that it's always been like that for
me, what's happening? |
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