A Winter's Tale



Posted by Scott Utley on April 05, 19107 at 20:45:08:

I skip class today.
At my school they don't teach sports,
so we chase cars instead or dodge the fuzz.
At lunch time we all cop a buzz.
My favorite sport is hopping the turnstiles at Bliss Street.
I save a dime but must endure the predictable echo-rhyme,
Always on time. "Get back here chief!"

Chief!

Chief!

You thief!

Thief!

Thief!

I soar
Heavenly
Bound for the tracks.
Copping a dime's still copping a dime.
I laugh with abandon
At this,
My life in crime.


Iím pushed off the subway at Greenpoint Avenue.
I don't care. I love the wind in my face.
I love skipping over the holes in my sneakers
I love dodging ribbon snake drafts craving the tears in my jacket.
Some hit their mark. Big deal. I'm smoldering.
You see, winters chill's lost its edge.
The fever in me is stoked by a fire
that dares not speak its name,
I'm insane with an enraged curiosity.
Perhaps it's simply the thrill of the hunt.

If you look out your window on the 44th floor you can see me.
Iím an opaque snow-flurried stick figure
Crossing the 59th street bridge and my heart.
I like this walk. The city looms large. My ultimate frontier
is crouched like a tiger out on the prowl.
When the full moon rises. I will hear the wolves howl.
I love this walk. Alone with my thoughts.
I'm free for the moment. Just me.


They stare. I wonder why?
I feel abandoned. I want to cry.
I'm x-rayed to ash. I just want the cash.
I imagine I'm loved which makes me want more.
I think it's tragic. Beloved's just a word.
A maze of lies criss-crossing strange eyes.
Life's really hard, here on 53rd and third.
I guess Iím too young to be a good whore.
I'm hungry. Itís cold, if you must know what for.
Here comes one now. Act cool. Donít ....
... shake. Hope is a rapist out on the make.

"Sícuse me, son. Do you know the way to Charlieís Uptown?"

The lines in his face remind me of pictures of the moon.
His eyes twinkle more than a manís should.
Iím too young to care, too dumb to fear.
Itís over there. He can tell Iím queer, Iím sure.
A cop turns the corner. My mark swishes away.
Abandoned again, but by whom, I can't say.
The cop's eyes twinkle too. He has the same lurid stare.
Desperate for refuge, we'll pretend we both care.

"Let's have some coffee and get out of the cold.
The rest of today, you're mine, your sold.
Iím officer Kelly. Call me Bill."
Sure. So, we head up the block.
If worse comes to worse I'll pretend I'm ill.
We're strangers connected by loneliness.
Riding the wave of a mid-winter chill.


February 7, 2007
Hollywood, California
All rights reserved.


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