My poem: 47th & Decoursey

I haven't put one of my poems on my blog in forever. So that's what today's Whatever is. My poem.

All my poetry is fairly personal.

47th and Decoursey



Standing on 47th and Decoursey

I think about dirty water

tree limbs

water moccasins

probably a drowning

should I miss impalement

on sharp fingered debris



I think about it

walk across the concrete corridor

my feet crunching the broken

beer bottles

to watch the water

dull, dirty

convulsed with snotty

balls of human refuse

it still moves

with sluggish motion

in its ditch of a riverbank

I watch it,

head bent,

sun burning my neck

heating my shoulders



sweating...



how my stomach hurts

hard but empty

floating somewhere near

my throat



I can’t think

of any reason why

not



but for some reason

I shrug off

and shuffle back

to 47th and Decoursey

a roadway away

from home,

and empty dark rooms

where light won’t follow



I think about it

but I don’t trust the water

that it won’t spit me back

on the muddy bank

smelling of sewage

and dank dead things

yet very much alive



Do other people think

about such things?



Such thoughts

are never far from me...

just past 47th and Decoursey