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Before the Next Station

by Chris Sorrenti

I wrote as if my like 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

180 hits as of June 2020


Author's Note: The first closing poem in Enter Every System, followed by Angel, and then True Colours.

Posted on 04/08/2019
Copyright © 2020 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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