Losing count

February 2, 2011

She met me at the end of the long escalator
where I was spat out,
hat and coat and bag and all
(A crosser of borders if there ever was one)

her feet were planted
on separate tiles
of the train station floor,
And I wanted to count them
(just to see if I could)

The station lights shot re-used photons,
aging my eyes,
while she led the way
to the freedom of tunnels and the steel caterpillars
that cost one euro eighty to enter

I hummed an old song I had heard somewhere else
and it went:

“She was script
waiting to be written,
A fruit to be peeled
I just need a napkin
and a quiet corner”

Hours later on the floor,
Empty Walls bounced our soundtrack
into our faces.

By the time we fell asleep
The room had already cooled again.

8 Responses to “Losing count”

  1. Gay said

    This is unique as your voice always Anton. Sexy and mechanical and earthy all in one. Sometimes I can get right into your groove and I felt this – novel and energetic. Well done. Thanks, Gay @beachanny

  2. trisha said

    splendid poem. beautifully written.

  3. nice…i like theimplications of the closing verse…

  4. wkkortas said

    Interesting transition mid-piece; we go from the rigid and mechanical–being “spat” out of an escalator, the citing of the exact fare of the tube ride–to something softer, inexact exemplified by the brief piece of an old song (as an aside, I couldn’t find out what song it is, and now I’m really intrigued). In most cases, I would find this kind of abrupt transition jarring, but, as Gay wisely notes, your poetic voice is so unique and confident that you can carry it off successfully and then some.

  5. ~Sarah~ said

    Gay said it– earthy. Raw, human and pungent also come to mind. I really enjoy the worlds you paint.

  6. forpuck said

    Thank you everyone, for your kind words. I’m glad you liked it.

  7. Claudia said

    back to read it again…really like it – and i like the lines you put in brackets a lot – the crosser of borders if there ever was one. totally dig the mix of reality and your thoughts/view – the aging eyes – the song – soundtrack bouncing back from the walls – yes – i like!

  8. Distinctive, intimate, intense.

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