Wednesday, November 28, 2018

The Lunch Hour. by John Greiner

Prussian blue hair bound tight
on night skull in spring light
fantasy of great Frederick
    and Hokusai
the street a sea pounding
sweep I watch and wait
care not to cross the walk
catch your blue eyes pale
startling against the sky
    piled high
in the afternoon approach
    of lunch
and the construction site
the hammering holding
ears plugged the plunge
coming down something
that was     up something
    to be
clouds remain though
there is no rain
I sweat and stick to my grime
your red dress blossoms
as the French tourists cut
across with Routard Guides
looking down to read
of a skyscraper's significance
in relation to Nimrod's pride
I stop caught in the blue
tangle of your eyes hair
as the jackhammers halt
for the lunch hour
that has finally arrived

John Greiner is a Pushcart Prize nominated writer living in Queens, NY. He was educated at the New School for Social Research.  Greiner's work has appeared in SandEmpty Mirror, Sensitive Skin, Unarmed, Street Valueand numerous other magazines. His chapbooks, broadsides and collections of poetry and short stories includeTurnstile Burlesque (Crisis Chronicles Press, 2017), The Laundrymen(Wandering Head Press, 2016), Bodega Roses (Good Cop/Bad Cop Press, 2014),Modulation Age (Wandering Head Press, 2012), Shooting Side Glances(ISMs Press, 2011) and Relics From a Hell’s Kitchen Pawn Shop (Ronin Press, 2010). 

1 comment:

Bedroom anatomy lesson#3 by Mike Zone

Every knock I here I think it’s you left your over night bag on the floor half zipped open like you were here the bed is a lonely place...