| By J.T. Clark,
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Favoured : 119 |
Published in : , Poetry |
If we were without scratch, one of us flung Himself at the flat, two inch-wide first rung Of a building’s fire escape. Then he’d cup The round metal dowels and wallwalk up Till he had a purchase. Next, he’d scramble Upward, through the tomato pot bramble, And well ahead of her roman candle, He’d flee with Miss Mafucci’s mop handle. But were we flush, with a dollar nineteen, A&P broom handles launched a spaldeen An urban mile. Below burned-off green straw, Barrels tapered, shafts flared. Sculpted to awe, And better than the bats of hugger mugger, The A&P stick was the cityville slugger.
South Bronx born and bred, and attending local schools there in 50s and 60s, J.T. Clark is a retired NYC teacher with fifty poems currently appearing in twenty poetry journals. He penned The Joy of Lex, an upbeat romp of seventy-two sonnets and a crown which tells of life with his black lab, Lex -- the best service dog in the world -- and has also written Othering, a mss of 150 sonnets which recounts the journey of a person who others, who becomes "an other" as he faces a burgeoning physical disability.
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