Joseph Hargrave: South Street
South Street
I’m putting that girl over there
into a poem: that tree, that dog,
and its piss–all into a poem.
For a moment I thought I had wings,
but was just walking fast; and
as this morning unfurls I feel
glory of sun and fabulousness
of air on skin without wondering
how anyone else perceives them.
I have no past and must have sprung
full grown from my mother’s head onto this street.
I am the fish in that pet store’s window.
I am the window, store, bicycle,
and rider going past.
I say “Hello” to a shop clerk sweeping the sidewalk
and realize I’ve invented language.
“Hello” he says and I’ve discovered conversation;
and I am so pleased with language
that I do what I’ve wanted to do all day
and write a poem.
