La tuna

they come here to drown their sorrows.
under their feet
the proof of their empty hopelessness:
half bent beer caps
crunch and crunch
under workman's boots
nurse's sneakers
teacher's wingtips
factory mom's sensible shoes
office secretary's chuck taylors.

in the humidity
their jobs stick and feel heavier.
they grab bottles of liquid joy
hoping to feel the wings
stretch out of their backs
to alleviate the weight.

in two hours (or less)
a man stumbles.
he cries
"i can fly!!!!!
i can fly !! weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee...can fly!!!"
perhaps he can (or could have).
then as the crowd gathers round
to see if he truly has been a success,
he falls to the ground.
dusty. red, brown.
human.

4/9/99; 5/8/02
©Robert Karimi

Click here for a printable version of this poem.