Another toss of the Metaphor Dice:
my birth + broken + drum
He was playing poker across town with the guys,
laughter and cigar smoke mingling
with whiskey and sodas.
She was anesthetized in the women’s hospital,
the surgeons bantering about golf and
martinis, the machinery droning.
Someone washed me, wrapped me, placed me
in a tiny crib in the nursery of other tiny cribs,
last name and gender handwritten on a card
above my head.
In the cacophonous symphony
of a city that never sleeps,
my birth was a broken drum—
drowned out by the buzz and clatter
of post-war efficiency
and the blare of horns
on Amsterdam Ave.
#MetaphorDice