Get busy living
I once saved a spider from a running sink,
Wrestled a napkin from the napkin-holder
And got him to climb on. I put him out
While summer was in bloom, the spring just over,
And nothing but a wash of green about
A pot of coleus – some sunset-pink,
And others sunrise-red, speckled with gold –
Was there to greet him, as he spiraled down
Into a landing sweet as honeycomb.
He touched down on a leaf; being left alone,
Seemed wondering what had happened to the cold
Unfeeling blasts that he was rescued from,
The tomb-like comfort of a freezing room,
Then crawled away: the last I’ve seen of him.
As the death-rate soars and Philly cheesesteaks sizzle…
I park my car and hustle up 13th street
To Market, where a crowd of businessmen
Throws ghastly shadows on the hot concrete;
Some checking cellphones, as they belch and grin
And hurry through conversation, on their way
To office jobs that pay them way too much
For juggling funds (in air-conditioned rooms)
And kissing ass. They’ve traded dreams for pay,
Their souls for fancy titles, 10th floor tombs
That keep their hopes on ice. Most out of touch;
The lot of them too old to find new jobs
And far too young to be considered ‘dead,’
And yet, they are. The flow of morning ebbs
And stagnates, pulses; yields to green, not red.
James Feichthaler’s work has most recently appeared in Toho Journal, E-Verse Radio, and Moonstone’s featured poets anthology. He is the host of an open mic poetry reading series in Manayunk, PA called The Dead Bards of Philadelphia. You can follow him on Twitter @forrealist_poet and keep up with The Dead Bards of Philadelphia on Facebook.