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New Yorker Poem
I felt separate from them in every way but at the same time could not deny the things that bound us together.
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At first, he continued to sleep in the park in order to save money.
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She’s a very methodical person, so she always leaves it in exactly the same spot.
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He could speak Slovenian to me and he could easily disregard any of my demands.
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The fundamentalists succeeded for a time.
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The situation is worse than that, though.
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The video shows the officers walking him to the local station and slamming the door shut on his cell.
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We crept to the spot where we’d seen him.
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No time for more wandering; the game was drawing down.
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Somewhere I must have lost a glove.
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3 comments:
This poem is a compilation of lines gleaned from old New Yorkers in the course of a poetry game where people sit around a table piled with magazines, an egg timer is set for ten minutes, and you quickly choose one line of poetry or prose (or a cartoon caption) from each issue that you pull from the pile.
Sue
Interesting. And then you end up with another totally NYorker poem. Peculiar. Did you revise? Modify? Add afterwards?
I didn't change any of the lines, but I did play with the order. And in the second-last line I couldn't read my writing, wasn't sure if it was "wandering" or "wondering," chose wandering. Certainly you could do as much revising, modifying, adding as you felt like doing. Who knows, maybe I'll do more later.
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