Big City Poet
Rooted in concrete
like some Manhattan trees
she looks up to heaven
sees only lines and rectangles
Sometimes she dreams
her poetry would soar
like some celestial angel
up into those mysterious regions
she glimpses occasionally
But then her gaze reverting
back to here and now
she rides in elevators
noticing how people avert their eyes
and on the fifteenth floor
beside a plastic potted plant
She overhears some cries
behind a door marked don’t disturb
and wonders in a quick poem
dictated to her smartphone
whether they are arguing
or making love
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© Johnmichael Simon
2013
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