Smoke

I’ve spent two weeks
In a city of millions
Every centimetre filled
With another hot coffee to go
And deadlines
Looming, always
Each step on the stairs
Occupied
With him and her
And assistant and CEO
Waiting for the same tick
Of the clock
This city contortionist
Makes Mary Poppins wheeze
A jealous sigh
Or release?
Not knowing how or why
But after two weeks
Of hurried cries
I’ve found a love
For this smoky town
Tied up and contained
In obtuse shapes
Sky high 9-5
And cityscapes

Do you understand it now?

Some people say they don’t understand my poems. But I don’t remember asking if they understood. I want to know if they enjoyed it.

Because. Because, this poem is about you. And that poem is about you too. That last one when I talked about those selfish girls or those feelings you get when you wake up and you’re no longer dreaming. That poem about hatred and jealousy is about you too. It’s selfish. You must think only about yourself. Poetry is completely selfish, you see.

So, tell me. What are you thinking about?

 

I’m thinking about him…