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.
For Liza Zayas
Subway bodies stand like castles.
If they could, they would take the snow
from outside, build moats to separate
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,