POEM
Tears, Oily Tears . . .
Crying is a habit with me.
You mustn’t mind: onions make me
smog
headlines in the Daily News,
not getting enough sleep
going to the movies and not going.
Fear of getting bawled out by people shorter than me,
animals in zoos,
deserted buses late at night,
teargas, hunger, frustration
sob
and, oh, yes,
superfluous lines of verse and great beauty
move me to tears,
sliding out of me like oil
out of an over-oiled electric fan
Source: Poetry (November 2009).
This poem originally appeared in the November 2009 issue of Poetry.
BUY THIS ISSUE »
.jpg)
Pulitzer Prize winning poet James Schuyler was a central member of the New York . . . MORE »
