Steve Dalachinsky

despot on the stove

it was my first sunset in quite awhile

there was despot on the stove

& she looked like a nun with bad habits

tho it seemed there was a thinly thick layer of clouds

obscuring the view

one could at times see the sun dropping thru them

as thru murky water

the wind picked up – the flag waved at full mast

fully unfurled at the farthest end of the dock

from that end this would be the farthest end

a thin intermittent spray came off the river

the sun quite Carriere as it made its rather slow descent

some gulls struggled tirelessly against the wind

others floated effortlessly

there had been no winter to speak of yet i shivered slightly

by the water’s edge

the wind increased

tonight i will eat stuffed shells in marinara sauce

no relation to sea shells

tho i’ve never put a stuffed shell to my ear

habits are more easily made than broken

possibly mending them is even harder

i personally have never worn a habit nor even attempted to try one on

tho i have made & broken quite a few

her bag is way bluer than the sky could ever be

what can be seen of the sun’s light is sinking behind a thin building

& has the effect of 2 wings on fire behind a dusty screen

i change my seat to view the sight less obscured

i know that somewhere in the wings there’s always someone waiting

probably at this point in history holding a small gadget

& either looking at its screen or caressing it with their fingers or asking it

“why am i waiting?” 

                              she walks by as if she is summer 

                                                                         “why am i dressed for summer?”

long legs  long pony tail swaying from side to side with her little pekingese

she shoots me a quick almost menacing glance as if to say

-       you look menacing    - 

i think to myself to her though she will never know

     -   you are beautiful    -

but i am only writing this – she looks the furthest one could ever imagine

from a nun  she disappears at a fast pace to the further edge of the pier

she returns moments later while i am writing the line

“but i am only writing…” she again looks my way only this time coming from the other end to my end which for now had become for her the closest side of the pier

only this time her look of disdain goes over & beyond me

the sunset is a hopeless waste of time the scrap i am writing this on is being tugged by the wind trying to get away & join the walkers  joggers  skateboarders & bike riders

the waves are lapping against the pier it is neither low nor high tide

i have become addicted to these little fried fish i buy on the border between little italy & chinatown first i buy my shells in the pasta store then i buy the fish in the chinese restaurant today i did the opposite & asked the lady in the pasta store to hold the pasta while i went to buy the fish she was very nice & said of course when i bought the fish the chinese ladies i bought them from laughed as they served me i asked for 2 small portions  lying saying one was for a friend also telling them that i was addicted  they overstuffed the paper containers laughing some more then i bought bananas from a chinese fruit stand then went back to get my shells i offered the pasta lady a fried fish she politely declined possibly a bit frightened by my offer but good heartedly stating “i’m sure they’re good & loaded with omega three” – something i had never thought of -  “yes” i said smiled & left

more young women run by as if they were summer the wind a bit stronger me chilled to the bone more little brown dogs & the lights from the scrapers just coming on & me getting up to leave with the voice of a child coming off the river the little fish are oily & salty sometimes very crispy & today they were a touch still warm what were they thinking while swimming running or tossing the ball the sunset became extinct long before the sun set the sun never achieved its roundness adam must have seen this once in awhile from the garden must have felt this chill after being expelled or after receiving a menacing glance from eve i am walking home quickly as i write suddenly thinking about supply & demand the body as an empty shell the height & depth of the river the rising tide & taking my first bite tonight out of one of those soothing stuffed shells a crossing guard ushers me through traffic it’s getting dark somewhere there is always night somewhere day this is nothing new & somewhere someone is reading the mail & caressing #s or talking on a phone or snapping pictures picture this nun changing habits or anyone changing habits or vessels being empty          vessels being filled.

dalachinsky nyc at the Hudson near spring then walking back home 2012  

***

***