Stone Soup Croutons, 3-14-19, Underground

Stone Soup Croutons is a weekly poem I write using lines and impressions picked up from poems overheard from Stone Soup's open mic readers and features. I figure out a title (and sometimes the rest of the poem) later. You can read the other ones I've done since 2015 here. To paraphrase Lorne Michaels, this poem doesn't go up because it's ready, it goes up because it's Friday morning.

Liza Zayas was last night's feature. It was a fun night with new audience members. With Liza's impressive online catalog enabling me to go back and read over the poem she recited last night, I tried to give this poem more cohesion than usual.  Of course, it turned into a tribute for her. How could it not? Thanks for reading.


Underground

For Liza Zayas

Subway bodies stand like castles.

If they could, they would take the snow

from outside, build moats to separate

any grass that might come between soles.

Fingers like burnt carrots point to where

there are extra seats next to you, seats

they will never take, refusing to rouse

themselves with rabble. They stand upright,

in case a rapture will cut their route short. 

They would settle for being lifted from axis.

They stay in their walking cubicles and wait

for the next passive aggressive crusade. 

They believe you get more kills with honey

glazed onto steel before backstabbing.

If they were brave, they would hang themselves

by the umbilicals attached to their wallets. 

put flesh to their fantasies, enter Valhalla 

with nothing of value, B-list berserkers.

As huntress, you turn down easy hanging flesh, 

exit to Park Street, fight for your own food.

Good handwriting by James. Tree artwork by Laurel.

Special thanks to Laurel Lambert, Nancy Messom, Janowe, Martha Boss, James Van Looy and Liza Zayas.