Runcible Spoon

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Actual Beings


If I tell you how tough it is to sit here

when my eyes have been opened,

a new light yet to adhere,

the room a lost rainbow,

you will toss my name away.

My back and legs and head

plead for me to stand and leave.

You would laugh with my body parts

and remind me I have no reason to whine,

that it's my decision to keep closing my eyes

to watch the people,

each in a city with its own sky.

Four thousand miles to the east

the pregnant girl whose language I once knew

is shopping for her unborn baby's clothes

in an early spring's last winter blast.

A man in the Keys is thinking of roses

although he knows roses aren't the flowers

she likes best. It's sunny

but will rain soon in Amritsar

where the prostitutes give me a glance

and turn their heads.

They have no chance they know

with a man unable to rise from his chair.

They see plenty of men

who do what they want them to do

and know I will still be here

when the day disappears.