Harlem

who am i

 

no one loves me

​

not even the Colombian boy

who bags my groceries

behind the bodega’s counter

 

I don’t think I’ll hear much from  Neal  this month

 

put his pen down for good

to chase the girls of Denver

who aren’t Carolyn     (or me)

 

Jack and W.B. too busy to visit

consumed with words drugs alcohol

making love to the typewriter

in Paterson & Tangier

​