Fall 1980 • Vol. II No. 4 PoetryOctober 1, 1980 |

From Manhattan Carnival: A Dramatic Monologue

   The Street    The street is full of children off to school. I enter them, swim in a wading pool. She lugs a briefcase much too big for her. He throws his hands up at a jabberer. She beats her chest and howls like an ape. He shifts his jacket to a Batman cape . . .    And all those years we never had a child. What books I wrote, anthologies compiled!    I walk uphill—a hill!—a concrete maze Conceals the roots of Spring where sheep might graze, Where deer might nibble garlic from my hand And lick the imprint of my wedding band, Where we might find the time and ease to walk Kissing, while neighbor cows and weasels gawk. Maybe we'll walk across a stream on rocks, Find fields of four-leaf clovers, poppycocks. If we spent just one month without concrete, Without the crowd's abrasion, in bare feet, We'd be so bored, we'd learn to talk to ducks —And they would say we were a pair of schmucks To leave Manhattan Island as we know it. Island? Thank God the co

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The Eyes

By Frederick Feirstein

   The Street    The street is full of children off to school. I enter them, swim in a wading pool. She lugs a briefcase much too big for her. He throws […]

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