The City

Grey flannel brushes velvet
Baggy pants and all I see
Are feet —moving, moving,
Down the curb and up again
Don’t Walk to screeching
Horns. Let’s hope the cabby
Likes Tuesday.

Life fast as skin flicks,
Six abreast in people
Packs  hustling, hustling
While around the corner
Life gets worse. And in
The shallow pinched
By the concrete,

I cry, ““Where’s my tree ?”

Copyright 1995 CARA

Copyright and all reproduction
rights on paintings and poetry reserved by the
artist and Cara Studios