Geoffrey Brock Poems
|2.||And Day Brought Back My Night||7/25/2016|
|3.||The Beautiful Animal||7/25/2016|
|4.||Charles Graner Is Not America||7/25/2016|
|7.||Flesh of John Brown's Flesh: 2 December 1859||7/25/2016|
|10.||Prof of Profs||7/25/2016|
|13.||Bryant Park at Dusk||6/10/2015|
Bryant Park at Dusk
Floodlights have flared on behind and above
Where I sit in my public chair.
The lawn that had gradually darkened has brightened.
The library windows stare.
I'm alone in a crowd—e pluribus plures.
Far from a family I miss.
I'd almost say I'm lonely, but lonely
Is worse, I recall, than this.
Loneliness is a genuine poverty.
I'm like a man who is flush
But forgot his wallet on the nightstand
When he left for work in a rush,
And now must go without food and coffee