shot glass
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

Neal Zirn


Going Through the Bronx on a Sunday Morning

The old neighborhood, Gates Place,
Mosholu Parkway, Gun Hill Road,
Jerome Avenue, is a rambling ode
to urban dysfunction. A sad pimp
sitting in a broken-down Cady.

The park where my grandfather played
pinochle passes by like a spike in the arm,
an itch and a nod, a day in the life gone
terribly cold.

A Dali moon in a cardboard box
sleeps beside a plaid, rusted bench.

Those that still walk the streets
turn up a collar and draw invisible
silhouettes on a wounded, ironweed