Litkicks Message Board Archive

mr. mr. green

Posted to Poetry





leaving his room
for a night stroll
mr. mr. green
curses the cars
and the scumbags
jostling in the neon
of the western

radios and
boomboxes
how can they exist
with such noise

mr. mr. green
watches the lights
flow by unknown
people going
somewhere
in fancy clothes

he turns into
another lane
winning an argument
with himself

mr. mr. green
likes the park at night
elms, cottonwood
wrap him in their
cool rustling
a smooth dark pond
has an island
where geese rest
on the wet grass

joggers are out
and hoodlums are drinking
mr. mr. green collects the
scents of oleander
and rose
he returns the way
he always does

in more paranoid
moments he imagines
that cars are
waiting for him
to fall into the asphalt
after being run over
a bum will go
through his pockets

mr. mr. green
Enters his room
on the top floor
of the victorian
erected on the ruins
of chinatown
pictures still stare at him
the newspapers have not shifted
as far as he can see

he reads a bit
and heads to bed
dreaming of a grove
where animals stop
and gaze at him with
curious eyes