Michael Keshigian

Homeless In NYC

I crossed 42nd to get to Fifth
towards mid-town
and just paces in front of me
an old lady pushed a shopping cart
full of identity

bags of cans dangling
from each elbow
clanged as she waddled,
dressed in clothes
worse than a country scarecrow

though her straw gray hair
hung longer
tied in a tail with brown hosiery
to match her stoic, weathered face
and it pained my heart

when suddenly she squatted
in a deep knee bend
like she was picking
something off the sidewalk
and there she froze

as I quickly approached
to help
unaware of the problem
till a puddle formed
and its river flowed around my shoes

down the curb
and in the privacy of her mind
she transformed
my sympathy
to confused helplessness.

Mustang Muscle

Life was never measured
in weeks or months back in those days.
Time passed in miles per gallon or
the odometer reading 
which gauged the distance to your girlfriend’s house
a certain number of miles away. 
Your best buddy might use his car
on trips to the beach because
it did better on gasoline.
That ‘69 Mach I Mustang, my wheels for years,
a loser for mileage, though it sure could attract
the girls, poised defiantly in
red rust garb defined with black detail,
proud gold insignia stretching broadside,
oversized tires, custom magnesium rims
and temperamental black vinyl bucket seats
alternately produced pounds of static electricity
or sweat depending on the season
helped me lose my virginity in the cramped back
not even fit for sitting. Even did a
doober or two while she guzzled petrol
at the stop light. Could hear
her coming a mile down the road,
351 engine roared proudly to announce
her brawny entrance with shark like features
shearing the wind before anyone
ever considered drag coefficient.
The spoilers deflected unnecessary impedance
as the hood scoop proudly displayed Mustang machismo.
She lived a long life
almost 130,000 miles, not bad for a Ford,
finally succumbing to cancer which devoured her shell
and chassis providing an ignominious conclusion
for a true muscle car back when time
was measured in miles per gallon
or the distance to your girlfriend’s house.

 

Michael Keshigian was recently published in the Sierra Nevada Review, Oyez Review, Chiron Review, California Quarterly, and Edison Literary Review. His latest collections, What To Do With Intangibles, Into The Light, Dark Edges, are available through Amazon.  He has been nominated 7 times for a Pushcart Prize and 3 times for Best Of The Net.