In Ithaca
The women
Wear leather boots
& Make eyes-
You can't say a thing
But they look at the bong
In the hemp shop then back
At you while licking their lips
Record stores
Have a rare
Selection
For you
Walls painted-
Yellow brick roads-
Strangers smirk
At our perky eyes
While we skip
Hand in hand
& swig
A bottle of Hennessy
& An old woman
Listening to 'Round Midnight
Paints in a lonely room
Lit with candles
Taughannock falls
Crash gloriously
Like the first fountain
Found many moons ago
A cat in an alley wakes
& Nightfall brings a
Cold breeze
Rushing up my shirt
& Now & then,
Ithaca's Gorges spill their
Stone soul
Into the old stream
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem