Fingers in an overcoat pocket. Fingers sticking out of a black leather glove. The nails chewed raw. One play is called "Thieves' Market," another "Night in a Dime Museum." The fingers when they strip are like bewitching nude bathers or the fake wooden limbs in a cripple factory. No one ever sees the play: you put your hand in somebody else's pocket on the street and feel the action.
Charles Simic's Other Poems
Read poems about / on: night
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Pocket Theatre by Charles Simic )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
Did you read them?
- let the wild rumpus start!, Mandolyn ...
- Keep on the Sunny Side, Joseph Narusiewicz
- Switches …… [NOT just for electrician.., Bri Edwards
- there's heaven on the plains and freedom.., Mandolyn ...
- Journey of imaginable stress!, Marshall Gass
- the fishermen on the wharf, Marshall Gass
- In The Market For The Exotic, Terence G. Craddock
- Far Traveller Absorb Exotic Sights, Terence G. Craddock
- the yardstick, Marshall Gass
- Market Traveller Moves Unseen, Terence G. Craddock