Popular Poems About the City

Wearing sunglasses despite the gloom,
the patter of the rain, a not unpleasant chill.
The people passing with umbrellas,
the head-lamped TESCO trucks
projecting mirages that shiver in drops.
The industrial yard just ahead, which though
no doubt scentless creates that cold
machismo smell of gasoline I like
despite its ugliness, like mum’s cigarettes
and mangy dogs. Someone’s torn the sticker
that demands “free Palestine” and death
to capital. The two decrying dairy farms
and animals in science labs have fared better.
Impressions...

I stand alone in the dark Fulton Street subway station,
Breathing in the urine-scented air,
Breathing out clouds of steam,
A subway train rushes along,
Not stopping,
Biting at my eardrums,
With the painful percussion,
Of thousands of people,
Silently screaming,

I don’t want to see,
    I don’t want to see,
         I don’t want to see,

The air fanned by each subway car,
Rushes against me,
Pushes the ozone and the smell of burnt brake linings,
Into my nostrils,
Along with the air,
Sucked through...