Bathing the Walrus

By Robert Beveridge [Winner: 1st Place]

--

broadway, between 70th and 89th:

it's after sundown and still the vegetable stands

are open, their owners full-throated

about the supreme quality of their cabbage,

their papyas, even their clearance carrots

in the back alley tongues meet, do battle

against the quiet, sterling field of teeth:

when black changes to red it's not what they do

but the lights of the police car that passes,

illuminates the monks at the other end

there are grains of salt on your neck

but they weren't put there by either vampire

or tequila enthusiast. What the hell?

You check the door of your paper shack

to make sure he locked it, go back to Proust

the force that created the universe may still

be out there somewhere but who can take

the time to look for something like that

when the baby screams and the green beans

are about to boil over and make a whole new river

let me tell you, baby, I've spent enough time

in Central Park to know you're not Thurston Moore

and hell, you don't even know me but if we go back

to your place we can put the adult in adultery

and if you don't have my book I'll give you one. Autographed!