a soup du jour

I was eating my soup du jour
for lunch in the old diner in the corner
and saw them from the window.

they were en route for the food and pleasures
the indifferent look in their eyes
embraced me like a freezing tide.

a stereotype material

I followed them, till they were dissolved
in the vanity of a busy avenue.

afterwards I looked down at my soup
and saw my reflection on its surface.
it was yellowish-greenish like a soup.

I loathed myself for craving for their bodies
rather for their psyche.

a cliche.


nocturnal #7

he is a semi drunk office plankton
with the titled tie, on his sweaty neck.
wearing a worn out on the elbows suit
and a faux leather laptop bag on his back.

he was whispering something to the ear
of some tipsy with a percocet dullness in her eyes
woman in the business attire and Midwestern accent.
and the oxytocin moon was peeking into her welcoming cleavage
while vaguely smiling.

they were nervously smoking and giggling,
while standing by the “we saw everything” doors
of the casual Irish pub,
across the Pennsylvania Hotel.

(I never thought, that the angels may look like this)

and there was an illusion of harmony.

a rare tranquility in the mid-town Manhattan
of the late summer evening.

memento #6 / paranoid thoughts

I was on my way to Brooklyn, the other day.
the subway car wasn’t packed,
but there were any available seats left.

I was reading a book about meditation,
and leaning against the subway car door.

on the other side of the car, there was that guy,
sweating, greasy hair, thick lips.
he was squeezing some silicone blonde with his
sausage like fingers.

he was squeezing her, like a toothpaste tube.

and I got anxious, you know, because she may burst
and the silicone will ooze from the walls
and everybody in the car will be covered with it.

and this guy will look at his hands
with frightened eyes, then at me
and will lose his conscience.

and everybody will scream, but me,
yet the thought of becoming a vegetarian,
nevertheless penetrated my mind.

and the train will stop
and it will happen right in the middle of Brooklyn bridge.

then the police will come
and the EMT too,
they’ll put that girl into the plastic bag
and then into glass tube filled formalin
and display it in the Ripley’s Believe it or not.

later I will bring my kids and show them this tube,
and tell them this story about the train.

then the train stopped at DeCalb Avenue
and they left the train.

I got back to my meditation book,
thinking about the steak, that I had
for lunch.

memento #3

I will be standing in the corner
in fashionable attire,
picking from time to time
on a fancy looking watch,
that was bought on Grand street.

opening a newspaper,
then rolling it back.

waiting for you, although I know you won’t come.
as matter of fact, I never saw you,
and I don’t know how do you look.

I searched for you in the eyes of people of the street,
but never found.

I don’t believe to the people’s eyes,
I don’t believe to the mirrors too.
they’re not telling the truth,
they only show what they want you to see.

most likely you passed by,
without being noticed,
averting your gaze
to the side.

I’ll wait.
O’ I’ll wait.