Friday, March 21, 2014

Richard Schnap- Two Poems


She lives in a great metropolis
Haunted by the choices she made
The memory of the junkie ex-husband
Who infected her liver for life

Her home is a cramped apartment
With a Buddhist shrine and ten cats
Where she chants for their reincarnations
As each one withers and dies

And she long ago tattooed her make-up
In the wrinkles and folds of her face
As she sometimes drinks wine and wonders
If anyone knows she’s alive

For though she lives among millions
She still feels utterly alone
While she labors backstage on Broadway
For a play about a woman who could fly


They used to gather in the morning
In the pizza shop across the street
Clustered at a table by the window
Clutching their cheap cans of beer

The son of a mean drunken mother
His brother from time to time
The disabled Vietnam veteran
The Indian who rarely spoke

They’d drink and survey the sidewalk
As if they were watching a film
That always seemed to keep changing
While the one they were in stayed the same

Till one day the shops liquor license
Expired and was never renewed
And they vanished like leaves in autumn
Caught by an indomitable wind

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