<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=507860" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Poem about People</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The jaunty crop-haired graying <br>Women in grocery stores, <br>Their clothes boyish and neat, <br>New mittens or clean sneakers,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Clean hands, hips not bad still, <br>Buying ice cream, steaks, soda, <br>Fresh melons and soap—or the big <br>Balding young men in work shoes</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And green work pants, beer belly <br>And white T-shirt, the porky walk <br>Back to the truck, polite; possible <br>To feel briefly like Jesus,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A gust of diffuse tenderness <br>Crossing the dark spaces<br>To where the dry self burrows <br>Or nests, something that stirs,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Watching the kinds of people <br>On the street for a while—<br>But how love falters and flags <br>When anyone’s difficult eyes come</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Into focus, terrible gaze of a unique <br>Soul, its need unlovable: my friend <br>In his divorced schoolteacher <br>Apartment, his own unsuspected</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Paintings hung everywhere,<br>Which his wife kept in a closet—<br>Not, he says, that she wasn’t <br>Perfectly right; or me, mis-hearing</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My rock radio sing my self-pity:<br>“The Angels Wished Him Dead”—all <br>The hideous, sudden stare of self, <br>Soul showing through like the lizard</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ancestry showing in the frontal gaze <br>Of a robin busy on the lawn.<br>In the movies, when the sensitive <br>Young Jewish soldier nearly drowns</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Trying to rescue the thrashing <br>Anti-semitic bully, swimming across <br>The river raked by nazi fire,<br>The awful part is the part truth:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hate my whole kind, but me,<br>Love me for myself. The weather <br>Changes in the black of night,<br>And the dream-wind, bowling across</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The sopping open spaces<br>Of roads, golf courses, parking lots, <br>Flails a commotion<br>In the dripping treetops,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Tries a half-rotten shingle<br>Or a down-hung branch, and we <br>All dream it, the dark wind crossing <br>The wide spaces between us.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Robert+Pinsky">Robert Pinsky</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=507860" data-title="Poem about People de Robert Pinsky" data-description="The jaunty crop-haired graying Women in grocery stores, Their clothes boyish and neat, New mittens or clean sneakers, Clean hands, hips not bad still, Buying ice cream, steaks, soda, Fresh melons and soap—or the big Balding young men in w..."></div> </div> </div>

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