there are glass cities
of beer bottles
lined up outside a distributor
on 52nd street.
and the poor are digging through them
and throwing the good ones in carts.
some are just grabbing a six pack or two.
it is all to make a buck
for a meal or to pay the rent.
out here we are treated like dogs,
and the glass cities of beer bottles
shine a rainbow,
reflecting brooklyn.
it is some kind of joke.
it is almost beautiful.
i think of the lucky ones.
i think of the majesty of drinking
all of that beer
and the hangovers that were dealt with.
all the sorrows momentarily
drowned
and the joy parted amongst the empties.
ah, the pleasures and miseries
of the monied on another
useless saturday night.
they just don’t know
where it goes
once the last bottle is drained
and they stagger out onto
the street
to go home and sleep it off.
and they’ll make sure
that they never have to.
they’ve never seen
glass cities
such as these,
beautiful and grotesque.
they probably never will