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Poetry of Issue # 65
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THE LAST WORD We've been spitting out mutilated language for a long time now.
And we've never learned how to repair
Maybe the best way
not to use it so much,
like the Native Americans did
(And how diligent they were
Don't you wish
If you are the one left with the last word,
and give it to a granite boulder
Let stone learn to sing. |
CRIMINAL COURT As I waited for my client, they brought in five female prisoners, single file, in handcuffs. They were seated behind a glass enclosure. One was my kid brother's old girl friend; her family lived on checks from Jewish charities. I went over. "Milly, I'm Freddy's bother. I..." "Who the hell cares," she shouted. "Hey judge, get this rapist out of my face." I returned to my seat in the lawyers row. Her case was called. She shouted obscenities at the judge. "Bellevue. Psych exam," he softly ordered. Her Legal Aid lawyer consented. As she was led back to the holding cell she suddenly turned to me: "Sonny, Sonny," she cried, "Don't let them bury me in the loony bin." The door dosed behind her screams. Hearing my nickname again, I remembered she was once the girls champion handball player of the East Bronx. I. Century _________________________ EMPTY It stands empty surrounded by wire fence, filled with cranes, trucks, men working. Empty but for the shadows burnt in the air twin monoliths still there Empty but for the jumpers etched in the ground. Off in a corner framing goes up, piece by piece, metal, steel, a tower to rival the one in the Capital, covered in concrete, windowless. Empty. I remember: stores, concerts in the Plaza, places to sit, ticket booth, subway connections, people. Always people. I remember: black smoke in a blue sky, ashes in the lungs, dark soot in the eyes, white waste on the skin, in the hair. I look out the taxi window. I want trees. I want water. I want children Climbing on the rocks. Edith Chevat _________________________ |
THE ORIGINAL COMMON Jesus never walked the East River Nor did Buddha sit in Van Cortland Park, But I'm here to say The Bronx, And not some far-off borough, like Mesopotamia Is the Cradle of Civilization. You heard me right. And I'm sure Dion, Tupac, Chayefsky, Woody and Linda Lovelace would agree, Because the fertile 42 square miles nestled between The Harlem and East Rivers is where Nyro Wrote her songs and Vin Scully found his style. Colin Powell started statehood where Stan Getz first played sax. Where Poe mourned young Virginia's death, And Paul Daniel Frehley became Ace. In The Bronx, of course. Where else? Queens? Where Carroll O'Connor, born you-know-where Made Archie a national truth. Where else? Qadan? Did Ed Koch and John Gotti ever don rally caps In the house that Ishtar built? We were the first independents, man! Jacking four thousand limeys in Pelham Bay Park In 1776 with 350 rebels so General George And his troops could regroup in White Plains. We passed under British rule clear through the war, When we crossed the King's Bridge to reclaim New York, And brought the damn thing to a close. Not on Staten Island did Kubrick, Pacino, Fiorello and Neil Simon skin their knees. Not in Brooklyn did, June Allyson, Anne Bancroft, Tito Puente and Sal Mineo develop our mighty patois. Not in Manhattan did Abzug and Bishop, Tony Curtis, Grace Dodge, and Doctorow come into their own. And we know it sure ain't Jersey with more Nobel Laureates than The Bronx High School of Science. I've got your ancient societies in the sand right here! At the source of the Concourse, East 138. Where Grandmaster Flash broke the beat. Calvin an' Carlin an' til' Jenny Lo All of them all from The Bronx. One of only four places on the planet Bestowed with an article before their name: The Vatican, The Hague, and The Netherlands Unless adding The Cradle of Civilization to your list. Mike Jurkovic ______________________________________________________________ |
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