Curdling Pulp at 14th and 8th Ave.
Stickying my hands,
Greening kmy fingers,
Hot city orange juice,
Fresh off the cobblestoned road,
Spills from the ruined fruit
Cupped in my hand.
The oils from the overripe pores
Of its sun-burnished skin
Explode in the air
And up my nose.
It’s flayed out by my teeth
And my gummy
——soft
——damp
—- ———- ———- sun-stroked fingers
Clutching the crackling skins
That turn soft and damp and gummy
As I search for a bin
To entrust them,
That glow,
To the graying city filth.
