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poetry


MANHATTAN
by
Bill Pruitt

Busy Starbucks Midtown, young family quickly

settles itself around a little table,

the daughters look 7 and 9, have long coats.

Mother goes off with the younger.

The older holds a small dog and says to her father,

“You’re a better cook at lunch and Mommy’s

a better cook at dinner, do you agree?” Years later,

that girl expresses her anger. The mother says,

“But what about that Friday after Thanksgiving,

remember we sat in that Starbucks at Broadway and Bond?

Don’t you remember how happy we were?”

Around the blue eye of the mother turns the city,

countless pairs of eyes drift like tumblers with lost keys.


Who can hold it all together.

Who will come sit with me at this table.



Bill Pruitt has published poems in such places as Ploughshares, Longhouse and Cottonwood. He has two chapbooks, Ravine Street, from White Pine Press, and Bold Cities and Golden Plains, from FootHills Press. He has taught English as a Second Language to teenagers in upstate New York for the last twenty years. Before that, he was a manager of a natural food co-op in Rochester. He is married and has two children and one grandchild. He is working a novel, Broken Bat Single.



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