1-29-97 shadow bench press

Leeds, UK

Something delicate
To dull the purging anger
A crisp step across cobblestones
The cold adding brightness to the sound
Brittle ears hear the unfamiliar
Time away turns them into smiles and memories

(I’d better watch it; my fear of the previous page may make this more revolting than it already is…)

The church bells chime six
The business of the world checks out and leaves
I absorb haircuts, hem lines, accents
Perhaps it is too commonplace for them to care

As I gather with my group of gripers
Fascinated by the differences
The same thing that turns my companions
Into loud, moaning dis-robed judges
Passing sentence on everything, fucking everything
It’s hard not to run or change my name

I was born over here, learned and loved and grew
And I’m as judgmental as the rest but…

We are visitors in a place of different cultures
And I still try to learn
Not to turn from America, but to love it more.