Poetry Outdoors
Poetry was meant to be written outdoors,
among graffiti, congressional bills, and open air advertising.
Such writing is permanent and pure,
lines with street credit.
Cultural commentators consider it vandalism.
But what do they know about the proletariat?
Their lives are not real.
They are propped up by structures of money,
just like their art.
Your Trojan Horse
The curly knots in your hair lead me astray
down the intersections of your fishing net.
While I was down there in the murky waters
I learned that it was a trap.
But the path that I took
led me inadvertently to your smile,
twisted and duplicitous.
But your brush strokes made me forget such bafflements,
your manners full of oddities,
the way you wore me, like a glove,
like a Helen of Troy in her incalculable sagacity,
and me your serviceable, fallen, Trojan horse.
When We Met
I never dreamt of fame,
I only dreamt of you, without knowing it.
You with your predisposition for fascination.
You with your ponytail like a seahorse.
I waited months to hear the quiver of your voice,
and then your words fell on me like dew,
like meteorites crossing the open sky like Russian artillery.
About the Author
Albert L. Rodriguez is an emerging writer based in Brooklyn, New York. He has a degree from Borough of Manhattan Community College. His work has appeared on Five on the Fifth, Platform Review (Arts by the People), White Wall Review, Literally Stories, Yellow Mama, INK Pantry, The Rye Whiskey Review and The Piker Press.
