Salvatore Difalco: “Manhattan”

Manhattan

6 am: adjacent man in bad wig snaps
like a slug. He’s too ugly for us, skin like canvas,
an ancient egg his skull. He eschews the relic
airs of the neighbour, Mr. Dust, rabble of the hood,
age-spots his calling card. Folks, this is no new
found land, wearing out its greenhorns—decrepit
rules even in its shiny zones of tony brands.
Nothing would survive the flat, expired robes
he wears for breakfast in his musty nook,
rotting man, no smile to spare, so toothless.
He wears earplugs for myopia, plays phone tag
with his God in a red psychedelic sweater.
I’m just saying, nothing like Manhattan
in the morning, even when you’re rotting,
even when you don’t know that you’re dead.
 

Sam Difalco lives in Toronto. His work has appeared in print and online.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s