G.R.

Poem By Ayn Timmerman

In Calder's city
you test yourself by
parallel parking on Lyon Hill,
which bisects the old homes
of the lumber barons,
three blocks from
a less gilded 'hood,
and steel beams
stab the sky on Medical Hill
where someday they will cure cancer
based on the tissues
of white lab rats,
while out on the sidewalk
people pass by to their places,
looking to the right and the left
but never right at you,
so they can complete their daily circle
on the surprisingly clean streets,
free of 99.9% of homelessness
so close to City Hall,
where the flags are
at half mast
because in the West Side
someone shot a cop,
and the plaza is empty,
swept clean,
awaiting the next festival
that is to take place
in Calder's City.

Comments about G.R.

There is no comment submitted by members.


Rating Card

5 out of 5
0 total ratings

Other poems of TIMMERMAN

A Quiet Mind

Lift up the cover and look
at the things scattering,
hidden, secret things;
the way insects

Cerulean Blue

With one finger
I paint a
Cerulean blue streak

Break Loose

I am stuck in a daily circle,
a routine that limits my
energy since I am a part of
a cycle conforming to

Ecology

I.

The sun has brought
the temperature up to

The Change (Fall)

A cold stone sun,
white disc behind
a gray haze-

Insects

Japanese beetle lace
hangs as delecately
as moth-eaten curtains
shrouding the field