Today's poem is by Laurie Lamon
In Manhattan, after wit and spar, after
the dog stops being a joke, for a moment
everyone shuts up and it's the bridge
that holds us suspended. For a moment,
nothing is funny or aslant. If there is rain
falling on the woman's hair, the man's
coat, it isn't narrative or metaphor.
Everyone is tired and thinking of a last
drink and bed. It is the dog who is certain
of loneliness, who follows the street's perfume
,taking no one to his undiminished heart.
Copyright © 2011 Laurie Lamon All rights reserved
from The Literary Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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