New York Nonplussed Minutes
New York Nonplussed Minutes
I am feeling, I confess, low–
when sirens squeal
conspicuously close, just below,
in fact, my window, and firemen rush
into my building, strides big=booted, black
backs horizoned
by yellow tape, and, as more sirens squeal/sigh
near, more firemen follow
(fore-armed with
folds of hose), and
my spirits, dear reader, somehow
lift, particularly as I look down to other
tenants not-scurrying through the self-
same doors, but simply side-
stepping boot-cuffs, trucks, some
walking dogs.
But being not nearly as irresponsible as
you might assume, you who may not
know the hard smushed bite of this big
Apple, I peer down
the smokeless desolation
of my hall, sniff what might be the slightest halo
of burned rubber or simply
my baking yams, watch,
with increasing cheer, firemen
drifting back into the night, lugging unsullied
hook, hose, sled, as other other-tenants, with
dogs and without, continue
to filter past, till I go poke, at last,
those potatoes, testing
for sweetness.
*******************************************
Yes, I’m trying to scribble a November novel, but last night major non-fire seemed to happen in my building. No noticeable smoke or flames but tons of terrific firemen and three or four trucks. I am linking this to With Real Toads, Kerry O’Connor’s challenge re addressing the reader.
Explore posts in the same categories: New York City, UncategorizedTags: firemen in City, http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com, manicddaily, New York Nonplussed Minutes, no smoke without a fire or smoke without a fire poem, Too long in the City poem
You can comment below, or link to this permanent URL from your own site.
ManicDDaily 
November 14, 2012 at 7:17 pm
… I could sit and listen to you talk for hours and hours!!!
November 14, 2012 at 7:43 pm
Ha! Thanks, Helen. I would not wish that on my worst enemy! K.
November 14, 2012 at 7:55 pm
This is great… you really pulled me into the chaos, the lovely smell from your kitchen, the firemen and dogs. I really like this!
November 14, 2012 at 10:53 pm
Thanks, Laurie. k.
November 14, 2012 at 8:38 pm
Very cool write. I love the return to the sweet potatoes at the end…….
November 15, 2012 at 12:14 am
I loved this, felt I was there, and even smelled those burnt sweet potatoes (they are the same thing as yams, right?)
November 15, 2012 at 12:46 am
Yes, more or less. There is some distinction but I liked the different sounds in the different places and did not want to say “tubers”! Thanks. K.
November 15, 2012 at 6:02 am
ugh…would hate to see them running into my building, knowing there is reason and hoping it is nothing….i like addressing the reader as well…ha…its a fun tool….the rather non plus poking of the potato and looking for sweetness bring in an interesting emotion as well k….
November 15, 2012 at 6:29 am
Yes but I was somehow pretty sure there want my g wrong. I don’t know why.
November 15, 2012 at 7:05 am
I thought this was just excellent. It has a post-modern feel, and the New York setting really added to that style. I love the voice, and the witty asides to the reader.
November 15, 2012 at 10:17 am
This is excellent, k–very immersing, like being on the scene, all of us reading as well as scurrying. May your yams be sweet enough amid the smoke and confusion to anchor the reality of life to the good side of the riverbank. (Mixed metaphor at its finest!)
November 15, 2012 at 2:29 pm
I agree…there is brilliance in the smoke and the painted scents you shared! Charred reality…I love how visual and sensory your poem paints the view! Love it….
November 17, 2012 at 6:57 am
Fun snapshot of a feeling I actually understand. Nice photo to accompany too.
November 17, 2012 at 7:44 am
Ha. Thanks, Sabio. K.