Saturday, November 26, 2016


Cinderella has swollen feet.
She slouches
next to me
for her corns
& callous'
& bunions
to be cut
or dug out.
A frog's tongue
in her ear.
Her prince
dines on Mulligan Stew
on Macdougal Street
readying himself for
his evening's grate.
Buses & trains
are listless. Smoke
snakes from sewers. Cabs
poke their yellow noses
through steam.
I've waited in the rain
for Isadora Duncan
to dance on useless ankles
but tickets
are scarce.
Graves litter
a wormless earth.

My girl arrived.
She will save
her complaints
for Sunday.
We will have
our small tortures
at the right moment.
The night
is within reach
& hope
is stupid.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2016

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