Black Lamb

Exfoliation

November 1st, 2006

BY SAGE COHEN

A chorus of fat nervous birds
jitters on the rim of my table.
I offer them nothing.
Flimsy chairs scrape pavement.
A wind could take them. Underneath
bricks and bricks and bricks.
Along the endowed buildings
a neat stretch of fat flowers
combed into rows of receding color,
groomed pinker and pinker each spring.
But now it is fall and the statues are serious.
A copper horse, back arched, bites her tail.
She is green in her deep places.
I ask everyone who passes
if they know what exfoliation means.
Black and rivered says the first guy.
A skin condition says the next.
And finally I’m just here for coffee.
Cigarettes punctuate everything.
I light one and leave. Walk until I see
Washington Square Park’s arch
standing two-pronged over the park.
A woman passes. She smells fake
like roses. Overalls mute the mercy
of her breasts. •

Posted by: The Editors
Category: All Smoking & Drinking Issue, Cohen | Link to this Entry