Winter City

The old man is talking to his cat again
in the next apartment I can hear him, the walls
are so thin, just layers of onion.

Today is grease splatter and grey sky
more soap in the dishwater and I
wish it were hotter, I feel that dirty.

Its the dog crap on the sidewalk
and cigarette smoke and people
who won't talk when you go by

or look in your eyes and sometimes
you want that. Sometimes I want to be
touched so badly I cry.

I'd like to take off in a Volkswagen van
camp by the ocean, sleep on the sand
feel the sun, my muscles firm as I run looking
like an ad on TV where the blues are more blue
and green is more green than you've ever seen.

But the girl in the ad doesn't need kerosene
for cooking or get tired of eating hot dogs
and beans because she only has enough money

to camp for a week without working and
the ad doesn't have to tell me I'd be as alone by the sea
as I am in the filthy grimy city.