In the March 21, 2005, Linda Gregg published a poem called "Whomever" in the New Yorker magazine. It haunted me. It told about a homeless person in Penn Station who tried, but failed, to be "invisible." Since we are studying a book about invisibility right now, I thought we could take the pattern Linda Gregg created grammatically and adapt it to write about something new, some other person who is figuratively "invisible."
Mark's poem is about just such a person; I won't ruin the surprise, since I think it speaks for itself. And to Linda Gregg, if you ever read this post, forgive us our "borrowing." We learn from the best!
You are not out yet.
I saw you again this mourning in your baggy pants.
In between bars,
Thick, rusty, hard.
Dressed in orange, black and white
With tears, sadness, and fear in your eyes
Locked up, but not as far away as you want.
I dont know what to think.
I'm glad to be here with you
I think there is a dark side to you.
Other times I think you are a great guy.
Always it is pity,
A bucket full of pity.
Never having a life with your family.
Monday, December 22, 2008
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