A sitter of public benches will come to
In nether fog tonight.
He drains heeltap from a beer bottle
And lights a nubbin.
Pigeons are roosting but who can say where?
The scabrous skin of this urban autochthon
Bubbles with pustules;
The whiffling fringe swaddles larval eggs.
He rises and declaims: Lines from 'Agamemnon'?
Or the gibberish of dementia praecox?
Earlier, while he was foraging for food
In the back of a chop house,
A peace officer sauntered up and said:
'Get outta my garbage.'
Get outta my garbage!
He reclines.
The hollow heart at the core of the wild nighttime
Beats time in desolate duple measure -
Red light, broken promises,
Green light, a penchant for grandiosity -
And trucks thunder in the mute naught
Like iron stallions,
Or the iambs of Aeschylus. That cordial detritus
Teetering on a sewer lip reads:
'It's Our Pleasure to Serve You.'
James Mullaney
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/agamemnon/
