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Before the Next Station
by Chris Sorrenti
I wrote as if my life depended on it
as the talent slowly washed away
I was waiting for a bus
that would take me to the next station
but still no sign of it coming
and I felt like a panhandler
on a corner of Yonge Street
pocketing nickels
occasional dimes
for words seemed no one wanted to hear
and whenever I would open my mouth
to tell them of my misfortunes
they’d shake their heads and walk away
before I had a chance to speak
I investigated the horoscope connection
found nothing but wishful thinking
too little voodoo and not enough ghosts
although I soaked in a pleasant Jupiter moon
and I looked in the mirror
saw past the five o’clock shadow
how my face had changed
since I was a boy
my children were getting older
with no recognition yet
for any brilliance they might possess
plenty of ambition
but still largely unemployed
© 1985
Inputted and revised © 2019
1,110 hits as of January 2026
04/08/2019 Posted on 04/08/2019
Copyright © 2026 Chris Sorrenti
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Glenn Currier on 04/10/19 at 04:02 PM "words seemed no one wanted to hear" been there, my friend. I also like that first line. Sometimes I think I write as if my life depended on it. Then I realize writing IS my life or at least a big part of it. And I fear the talent slowly washing away and get convinced of how ordinary and pedestrian my stuff is. But I keep on writing as if my life depended on it. Thanks for the journey, Chris. I appreciate it and you. |
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