very dated to late 20th Century

The Politically Korrect Poem

3 o’clock, winter solstice,

Urban city, I stand on a dirty gray street,

Amidst pieces of newsprint and cigarette butts

Collecting in corners of the edges of the sidewalk.

The chilled smell of coffee perking

On an old hot plate in that diner on the corner

Drifts- no wafts out to the place, where I-the-poet-

Am standing.

I watch the boys-not-yet-men

With torn up jeans and longish hair exerting their minor

Rebellions over one another as they run one into the other

Yelling insanities and screaming exhalations while I wait

On the bus.

It’s late.

Again.

And the Women with unshaven legs and shaved heads,

Mismatched articles of stained clothing

Yell out anti-sexist remarks at men as they pass them by

Stomping their purposefully ungainly marches. The colors

Of the human spectrum mix into an absurd pointillism

That would baffle Seurat and excite hot flashes of

Avant Gardism in the new artists fresh out of high school

Filled with misshapen truths like the knarled hands of the

Homeless man or is it woman who croaks out for my charity.

I look at the mass of humanity which flows and floods around

Me, all the while knowing that the bus would arrive just as

I grow interested.

I felt, at the time, that if I wrote this down

That it would not be received well by the howling metropolis

Or even the poets it is concerned with.

Hence I await your reply which I know is forthcoming.