by March 10, 2010 0 comments

Walking down the street,
pass the Pawnshop,
the Deli,
the Police station,
the bar,
the Serbian Café,
the Korean store,
walking among the hippies
showing me piece signs
and the yuppies
talking promptly on their cells,
nodding carefully to the bums
and the kids,
observing their mothers and fathers,
feeling scared of the police officers,
feeling obscure on the hospital’s
humble in front of the church at the
corner where Sunday people remain
I enter the store where the Bosnian
shop boy sells me Jack and Coke
and then I continue to my apartment,
crossing the street,
thinking of Caesar and Rubicon
just for a while,
and then feeling too distant
for the rest of the day.

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