IN THE HEYDAYS OF HIS EYES
(taut jeans dancing)

An Anthology of Poetry about Being Young and Growing Up
 
 
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THE SPIRIT OF 34TH STREET

Peggy Shriver

Doors opened with a silent scream, like photographs of anguish; the subway paused, shed cargo and raged on. She lurched aboard, sagged into a vacant seat, frail weight of her gray years hunched with cold. Numb fingers plucked at rags, drawn close against raw misery. Knuckles, cracked and swollen white, clutched into a plea for warmth. He, dark and lithe, swung down the aisle, taut jeans dancing rhythmically. With Latin grace he, sidling past her patient form, in one smooth gesture disappeared through subway doors, leaving in her lap, like folded dove wings, his black leather gloves.

 
 
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