Life Is Wild In Down-Town Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Life is wild in down-town

Though by force and by luck
I remain breathing and alive
I see me loving things that I see
most of nights…
I drive around town and pick up and drop
the max work seems to be in down-town.
“Why do you? ” is question many ask.
“I love, am, man of pen, ” I tell them.
“To write must, inspire…” is the end.

And then the stories:
“The women in high heels,
short skirts, ugly knees,
blouses, cleavage…attraction
and they bend…male, female in smells.”

I lose the full stop in the line and go on…
And hear their comments; they too can inspire…
Little are the sky, and oceans as paper, ink-water.

I stop at hotel; before me a Porsche
it is white as if milk or yoghurt
a woman in high heels…well-dressed
she turns left to get out; I can see
toe to head, far above naked knee
her mate is, my little-spoken passenger
he revealed, though in short, problems
he had pool of water in Condo
handy man fixed in part; main remains
he went to kiss the mate, she turns cheek
I smile seeing man lose dream of her lips.

Three men uniformed by Hotel’s
Race rushing to park the white Porsche.

Once again I smile:
One has it as rich and still poor
One wants it dreaming, daydream.

I drive to face my new herds…
of weekend and drinks; maybe beds.