Monday, August 20, 2012

Steve Dalachinsky

despot on the stove

it was my first sunset in quite awhile
there was despot on the stove
& she looked like a nun with bad habits
tho it seemed there was a thinly thick layer of clouds
obscuring the view
one could at times see the sun dropping thru them
as thru murky water
the wind picked up – the flag waved at full mast
fully unfurled at the farthest end of the dock
from that end this would be the farthest end
a thin intermittent spray came off the river
the sun quite Carriere as it made its rather slow descent
some gulls struggled tirelessly against the wind
others floated effortlessly
there had been no winter to speak of yet i shivered slightly
by the water’s edge
the wind increased
tonight i will eat stuffed shells in marinara sauce
no relation to sea shells
tho i’ve never put a stuffed shell to my ear
habits are more easily made than broken
possibly mending them is even harder
i personally have never worn a habit nor even attempted to try one on
tho i have made & broken quite a few
her bag is way bluer than the sky could ever be
what can be seen of the sun’s light is sinking behind a thin building
& has the effect of 2 wings on fire behind a dusty screen
i change my seat to view the sight less obscured
i know that somewhere in the wings there’s always someone waiting
probably at this point in history holding a small gadget
& either looking at its screen or caressing it with their fingers or asking it
“why am i waiting?” 
                              she walks by as if she is summer 
                                                                         “why am i dressed for summer?”
long legs  long pony tail swaying from side to side with her little pekingese
she shoots me a quick almost menacing glance as if to say
-       you look menacing    - 
i think to myself to her though she will never know
     -   you are beautiful    -
but i am only writing this – she looks the furthest one could ever imagine
from a nun  she disappears at a fast pace to the further edge of the pier
she returns moments later while i am writing the line
“but i am only writing…” she again looks my way only this time coming from the other end to my end which for now had become for her the closest side of the pier
only this time her look of disdain goes over & beyond me
the sunset is a hopeless waste of time the scrap i am writing this on is being tugged by the wind trying to get away & join the walkers  joggers  skateboarders & bike riders
the waves are lapping against the pier it is neither low nor high tide
i have become addicted to these little fried fish i buy on the border between little italy & chinatown first i buy my shells in the pasta store then i buy the fish in the chinese restaurant today i did the opposite & asked the lady in the pasta store to hold the pasta while i went to buy the fish she was very nice & said of course when i bought the fish the chinese ladies i bought them from laughed as they served me i asked for 2 small portions  lying saying one was for a friend also telling them that i was addicted  they overstuffed the paper containers laughing some more then i bought bananas from a chinese fruit stand then went back to get my shells i offered the pasta lady a fried fish she politely declined possibly a bit frightened by my offer but good heartedly stating “i’m sure they’re good & loaded with omega three” – something i had never thought of -  “yes” i said smiled & left
more young women run by as if they were summer the wind a bit stronger me chilled to the bone more little brown dogs & the lights from the scrapers just coming on & me getting up to leave with the voice of a child coming off the river the little fish are oily & salty sometimes very crispy & today they were a touch still warm what were they thinking while swimming running or tossing the ball the sunset became extinct long before the sun set the sun never achieved its roundness adam must have seen this once in awhile from the garden must have felt this chill after being expelled or after receiving a menacing glance from eve i am walking home quickly as i write suddenly thinking about supply & demand the body as an empty shell the height & depth of the river the rising tide & taking my first bite tonight out of one of those soothing stuffed shells a crossing guard ushers me through traffic it’s getting dark somewhere there is always night somewhere day this is nothing new & somewhere someone is reading the mail & caressing #s or talking on a phone or snapping pictures picture this nun changing habits or anyone changing habits or vessels being empty          vessels being filled.

dalachinsky nyc at the Hudson near spring then walking back home 2012  


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