Underground Automatic Poem

( The fifth of May, Two-thousand and seven)

Dirt-faced dunnocks
Circling
Circles round
Church tower

Brown sparrows
Bathing
In the gutters

An Old china
woman
Drudging along
An alleyway
Pushing
a rusted cart
Loaded
with a motley
Assortment
Of various detritus,
Useless,
though very important,
Things
As all things
are really.

-Pretty green
Bottles
Emptied
Of their wine

-An apple shaped clock
That looks a
swollen heart,
Or bloody fist.

I contemplate
Her filthy misery
With indifference
And feel a certain
Shameless
Selfish happiness
To look at her
As me
Not looking
Back at her

-Whatever the bloody
Hell that means.

And turning away
From the haggard old bitch
I imagine smells of piss
Looking towards the end
Of the street
Just in time to see
Two lovers meet

The fuckers...
- lean in
For a kiss. pucker up
And the
lips meet

And I,
The unlucky passerby,
Sigh

-A miserable sound
And continue
on my way
Towards the
underground
In London
Of America
NonEnglish Poppa
says Subway
And the hell with 'em

And I entertain
various digressions
Such as these so as
To forget my stubborn
Selfish
Loneliness and laugh
And say,
at the end of the day, perhaps
In French
if I may,

"Je Suis Désolé"

And laugh
With a sissy French accent
Says Cousin haven't seen
many years since I hear
He makes a life In Queens.

And everything's a digression
A shift from scene
to every other scene
Gray to gray and green
then
back to gray again.

"Etceterenough"



By George Gaudet