Dispatches from Queens
KC Trommer
I get off the 7 and head home, past the Chase and the Jackson Heights penguin that,/ last week, someone dressed as a bunny, and I’m thinking/ of Frankie’s I-do-this-I-do-that poems, and my phone is dead again and/ I can’t afford to replace it. All I want to hear is Spoon/ singing got no regard for the things you don’t understand/ but maybe, as Lorna said, it’s a gift and there’s a poem across the street/ waving Yoo hoo! Over here! and trying very hard to get/ my attention.
I get off the 7 and head home, past the Chase and the Jackson Heights penguin that,/ last week, someone dressed as a bunny, and I’m thinking/ of Frankie’s I-do-this-I-do-that poems, and my phone is dead again and/ I can’t afford to replace it. All I want to hear is Spoon/ singing got no regard for the things you don’t understand/ but maybe, as Lorna said, it’s a gift and there’s a poem across the street/ waving Yoo hoo! Over here! and trying very hard to get/ my attention.
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