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

    sky

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 Sand, Empty 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).