Coney Island by Greg Fuchs

poem

Coney Island noon -- water

Melon, sun bath, Pig Earth.

Thank heaven for the inefficiencies

of entrepreneurial & government systems.

Sand between the toes day.

Homeless wash clothes,

handsome shower.

Full Hasidic garb, fur hat,

stroll along the sand toward ocean.

Mother screams.

Wheelchair catches some rays.

The worm in his hand

falls out of his pants.

All food is fried so are the beach bums.

Splayed municipal disaster

a.k.a. urban renewal: Cyclone ballpark

grassy burial ground of roller coaster

with house inside the first crest.

New city aquarium Brasilia-like

paradise runs into ghetto

across from hot dog red glare.

 

 

Steve CannonTribes