186. 41 TIMES AND GRAND CENTRAL

41 TIMES AND GRAND CENTRAL
Smokes the color of lapis lazuli, sauces in
red and brown. They seem to be eating
small marine creatures, and chutney by
the pound. I couldn't spend more than
a dollar myself, on something I'd never
realized or found.
-
This was - incredibly - the great train depot,
the only one here left. The other had been gutted
pillaged, raped and destroyed 50 years ago by dolts
who didn't care. Money-managers holding their dicks,
accountants managing nothing, construction men looking
for work, some other kind, with their hands. Jerk-offs all, no?
-
Now, by stinging contrast, they've let this one stay -
turning it instead into some infantile dining room
of sloppy eaters and piggish prunes : the disheveled
can contemplate the well-heeled while the wealthy
contemplate the grave - amidst soups and sandwiches,
chickens and wraps, fingers and ice-cream galore.
It's a sickening array of ghastly cuisine.
The sort of thing wars should clear up.
-
The men in the Oyster Bar were
somehow managing to play cards
while they ate and drank.
Their women looked on,
holding their drinks;
already in the tank,
they could only hope
that their train
came soon.