by Erik LaPrade
The voices yelling in the streets
In Union Square tonight
Are not the red-scare words
Of the 1930s. These sounds
Are more elemental, almost beyond
Any particular law of survival.
I stand against a building
Watching the crowds pass by
As the summer night
Grows darker and homeless figures
Regain a place they can be in.
The fragments on the streets
Are not holy relics
From a saint’s body,
Just names of people killed.
I pick-up some hand-written signs
From the ground like picking cotton,
Putting them in a bag to sell
At some future time.
Erik La Prade lives in New York. His interviews and articles have appeared in Art In America, The Brooklyn Rail, artcritical, and others. His latest book is NEGLECTED POWERS. Last Word Press. 2017. Some of his poems currently appear in J Journal. He has a B.A. and M.A. from City College.