Hips
Tonight I feel less lonely than last night.
No, I’m not with friends
nor am I in bed with a stranger.
I don’t have a date this weekend.
I’m walking in my immigrant neighborhood
who has just come home from a long Monday at the shop or the factory,
and is now feeding the children dinner,
looks forward to a bit of TV,
then hits the sack. It is a sweet exhaustion,
and sweeter still, the man on the sidewalk
who whistles
to the girl leaning out from her bedroom window,
and still sweeter,
the men drinking, not one talking, in bars playing the salsa or the merengue,
whose iron thighs have softened
to hips.
Plan for this poem-in-progress
No, I’m not with friends
nor am I in bed with a stranger.
I don’t have a date this weekend.
I’m walking in my immigrant neighborhood
who has just come home from a long Monday at the shop or the factory,
and is now feeding the children dinner,
looks forward to a bit of TV,
then hits the sack. It is a sweet exhaustion,
and sweeter still, the man on the sidewalk
who whistles
to the girl leaning out from her bedroom window,
and still sweeter,
the men drinking, not one talking, in bars playing the salsa or the merengue,
whose iron thighs have softened
to hips.
Plan for this poem-in-progress
Comments
Like the flowing rhythm you have going from stanza 2-4: very nice indeed.
Best,
James
if there are many more poems to be written, why not join me in MaPo?
No prob: it's been a pleasure to read your work and learn from it.
Best,
James
why not MaPo? Partly because I feel I need to read some more before I add to the series. Partly because May is such a busy time at school. I hope you will still go for it, and get many good poems out of it.
Jee