NINE TIMES TEN
IS STILL NINETY?
Never knowing coal mines in Newark,
nor slag heaps in Nutley, I went on
nonetheless, so brave to keep trying
for my moment. There was a tall, old
church along Rt. 21 and - though it too
finally crumbled - it gave the Spanish
roadside some solace. But that was long
ago, in the days of Addonizio.
-
Mayors come and Mayors go, same as
he did, Hugh Addonizio. Kevin Gibson.
You can pretty much name whomever
you wish Walter Zirpolo and more. There's
a jailhouse somewhere that knows every
one. Jailhouse rock; give me that lock.
-
Stephen Crane was brought up there too.
He ended up in another place and under
local unholied ground as well. Family
matters and disagreements with Dad.
Life goes on, so by the car-wash he lies.
It's funny how this soiled life rages, and
we fight or figure to beat the moments
as they come and as they go.
-
I have no glimmer of a truth, and there
is nothing left now except a glimmering
idiocy of back-tracked momentum in a
rear-slide to Hell. I never thought much
of this life, but I still wish it well.
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