by Aldo Tambellini
on e. 96th in nyc
there is a mcdonalds
open late at night
the poor the lonely
the old ones
slide their feet
in straining walk
to sit at yellow tables
staring at dusty pink wallpaper
picking up the daily news
left by others
in the street garbage
they see sensational headlines
about world disasters
preparation for war
local assassinations
their hands
dried to the bones
hold with tremor
the only cup of coffee
flooded by so much sugar
so much chemical cream
to feed the hunger
they slowly die at mcdonalds
looking at the big window
frightened by closing timethat will put back into the street
their human refuse |
