Yankee Woman

This morning as I'm making my commute out of the city to Rye, NY, a small, old woman decked out entirely in NY Yankees gear hopped onto the 6 train at Union Square. She inspired me to write this poem...

Yankee woman on the subway

curly hair,

sits alone

surname, though not her own, on her back

stares ahead through dirty window

dirty tunnel walls

aged like

veiny hands

clasped.

Red shoes match red cap

as bag slung,

slightly shifting

from a bony shoulder

precarious, like

sweaty hands

gripping the edge of

the second tier.

foul ball an inch out of

reach.

dirty fingernails, glint dully.

Stand clear of the closing doors, please.

I think I'm going to try to start posting recordings of my poetry to this blog...as they are usually intended to be spoken aloud rather than just read. It'd be nice to get them out there.

Post Independence

This weekend I went skinny dipping for the first time. It truly was the "free-est" way I could possibly experience the lovely 4th of July holiday. Actually, to be completely honest I almost forgot about "the 4th of July" as a bunch of lovely people and I were celebrating our friend's 21st birthday at a lake house in the Port Jervis part of NY (bordering New Jersey and Pennsylvania, apparently). We truly roughed it...having run out of the faithful "TP" by the end of our time spent there. It was a lot of fun to escape the concrete confines of the city with fun people who don't mind spending some time naked in a "tea-colored" lake at high noon.

Here's a Haiku that pretty much encompasses the weekend.

Warm and cold spots move

Between our toes and nipples

Fun in the cabin.