My Poem, “Upon Reading T.S. Eliot on a Bus in Hyde Park, Chicago, Winter 1995” is up at Dagda.
A question, propelled by laughter
I’m not understanding:
The exiting boy’s glance warns
my answer could mean
But the question doesn’t seek “what,” but “why”.
Because of bald heads and trousers rolled.
Because of games of ivory and coloured glass.
Because of yellow tongues lapping at window-panes.
Briefly, I believe,
they might be ennobled
by the myths of our past,
freed by what the thunder said.
But black rubber rolls down these streets,
concrete is all they know
Because these buildings are made of future sand,
Because black snow is our only witness to God…
I read my eulogy, and it is yours.
© Dylan Otto Krider 2013
In “Upon Reading T.S. Eliot on a Bus in Hyde Park, Chicago, Winter 1995”, Dylan muses upon the meaning of immortality and the nature of the surrounding world through the recollection of a private moment. Expanding…
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