Poet
by Alan Mahood

I ain’t no poet
I’m a busboy’s tray
Piled high with plates
And spoons and the leavings
Of the meal she was eating
After he came back
And also there is the napkin she
Was writing on
The last words were
"…..In your eyes…"
And when he asked " what are you writing"
The reply was " Oh nothing …"
And the words got smeared with lipstick
And marinara and then
Lunch was over and she forgot
I ain’t no poet but
On the way back to work
Two boys were beating on
Tubs, bo chacka bo chacka chacka,
And the metro rushed by
‘Neath the grate she was passing over,
Whoo sha
Whoo sha,
And there was a paper boy at the top of
The moving stairs singing
Washington Times Tweeenty Fiiiiive Cent
So she heard
Bo chacha chacka Whoo sha
Washing Times Tweenty
Bo chacha chacka Five Cent
Whoo sha
Later she wondered
"Who was that man dancin by
the escalator?"
But I ain’t no poet

-amahood

09-27-1999

09/22/2001

Posted on 09/22/2001
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