the medallion…poem 15

and i’d spend less and less time in the shelter at night…more time roamin’ ’round the city…rides on the 6 train from Brooklyn to the Bronx…lookin’ out at painted pictures on red brick walls…hearin’ saxophone players wail into the night…preachers preachin’ the gospel on street corners and the constant shuffle of feet in the Port Authority building…where men and women found corners and pockets to sleep in for an hour at a time ‘fore bein’ told to move on by a cop dressed in blue with a gun on his hip and a coffee cup in his hand…

how many nights i’d walk through Washington Square Park…find a bench to sit on…and watch the show…the protesters always under the arch yellin’ ’bout somethin’ they could not change…art students taking shots of ebony nudes in the twilight with a flash…couples walkin’ hand and hand…just like she and i used to do…drunks askin’ for a buck or two…skate boarders crashing into walls…and crazies talking to themselves ’bout the second coming of Christ almighty…communists passing literature…and i just sat and watched…just sat and watched…

i was beginning to know this city…felt comfortable in it’s chaos…slept during the day and walked the nights among the other vagabonds…bearded ladies out on the town…night owls and night hawks…the midnight Moon watchers who howled in Tompkins Square…subway bums askin’ for a pass…and people lined-up for a slice…only a buck…only a buck…

and i’d seen men beaten behind the Post Office…whores applyin’ their trades in alleys and down in garden apartment doorways…saw the chicken-hawks pickin’ up hustlers in adult bookstores…or approach young boys fresh off the buses…all this under neon lights and purple skies…

thank God for the purple skies…

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The writing is based on my surroundings and what I've been surrounded by. This language is coarse and politically incorrect; which I make no apologies for. These characters are not nice and to use any other dialogue would be disingenuine. That being said, I choose to roll the dice. dm seay

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