Nothing Beside Remains
by Bill Yarrow
It was the early 80's. My students carried
guns. My colleagues died of AIDS.
My bachelor neighbor was a cineaste.
I walked the rent-controlled boulevards
of Sunnyside and watched the glib sun
set over loquacious Manhattan. Every day's
evaporated apogee had its inky epitaph.
We exist only insofar as we are remembered.
The time we went to Carroll Gardens for fake
IDs. Spending New Year's Eve in LeFrak City.
Eating hot coconut kishke from Zabar's.
Dreaming of the Ely Avenue Cleaver.
Under the bridges of Kew Gardens Hills
the invented truth still has street value.
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Author's Note
A version of this poem appeared in Wilderness House Literary Review.
Thank you, Irene Koronas.
A version of this poem appears in my chapbook Fourteen (Naked Mannekin, 2011).
This poem appears in Blasphemer (Lit Fest Press 2015).
The title is an allusion.
Other stories by Bill Yarrow
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I love the "a version" part. A poet revising after my own heart, Bill. Our babies are never fully grown, are they?*
Voice and form - just right. I like. Good writing, Bill.
nice write.
Killer last line (of course), but I also liked:
Every day's evaporated apogee had its inky epitaph.
*
Nice poem Bill. Love last line.*
The last line is a stunner. I also loved "watched the glib sun
set over loquacious Manhattan." *