Friday, November 11, 2011

East River Pier, July

Watching the East River ferry pull away from the dock and sputter like the heavy breathing of a morbidly obese man, I fathom my options for escape being just as absurd. Futile and pork-belly slow. What a silly thought- the river between Brooklyn and Manhattan tastes like the gravy sealed in tupperware at the back of our fridge- forgotten from last Thanksgiving, or the Thanksgiving before that. [curdled, separated, seeped into the plastic that dutifully holds it despite low wages and an unfriendly work environment. we have to throw the whole thing out. no power scrubbing worthy/useful/possible]

2 comments:

youdontevenknow said...

fuck you. your not from new york, so don't try and act like it, u poser. its not your new york because you didn't grow up there, and know what it feels like when it's coursing through your veins.

Jacquelyn said...

Oh my, I certainly didn't mean to offend someone in any way. This is just some personal bullshit I put on here, I didn't think anyone read it. Anyway, no need to be mean. I would never claim it as a possession. I lived a block from the pier for a very traumatic year and was glad to get out of the city. I don't think I have lived anywhere long enough to feel like my blood is potent. If you have NYC coursing through your veins I hope you channel your passions and create something with it! Cheers, and no hard feelings.