A poem for a stormy night
Lightening.
Bits of rain falling on the air conditioner
crackles and pops half-heartedly
like popcorn left in the microwave too long.
But I'm still thinking about the dead pigeon I stepped on.
In the morning, stepping off the curb, going to the subway,
then feeling the distinct ribs of flat pigeon through my shoe before looking down and realizing what it was.
Two days in a row.
That's the kicker.
I stepped on it two days in a row.
Same pigeon.
I think.
So what I'm saying is,
storm schmorm.
Now scroll down to see some of my upcoming shows.
Yes, me plugging myself is part of this poem.
I think.
See the repitition?
That was poety-like, no?
Oh yes yes a thousand times yes!
