Poetry in Motion

Poetry in Motion

I was on a downtown six train

headed home from the upper east

and watching a homeless man

asleep with his head against

an MTA Poetry in Motion poster.

It made reference to National

Poetry Month and had an excerpt

from Jim Moore's Love in Ruins.

My initial, "I want my picture

on fridge too mommy", envy

slowly subsided as I continued

to think about the larger scene.

The poem, about the aftermath

of love long gone, reads like a

eulogy for the illusions of youth.

I thought about things I had written

from a similar place of sorrow

and disappointment. They were ex-

tended metaphors written in ink,

tears and blood.

I started to become annoyed at

the idea of someone slicing pieces

from the heart on Jim's sleeve

and serving them in bite size

pieces to passersby. As if complete

poems were these great unfathomable

things to be treated like Tocqueville.

Only quoted by idiot pundits with

no understanding of the greater text

for they never bothered to read it.

I gave the homeless guy a dollar,

asked him to slide down a seat or two

and pulled a new black Sharpie from

my briefcase. I wrote across the poster

Poetry is art! If the MTA cut a Picaso

into pieces would it be okay with you?