nickels; the movies
You could be carrying in your pockets
an old coin, a stick of gum.
It is Sunday and the streets are
as deserted as the drive-in movies
at dawn, on a rainy day.
But never mind the theater, you know, cinema.
I spent all of last week locked in my room
reading stories by Nin and pretending to be in love
with love.
It's a business, like sports, the movies.
Just a business. No golden age.
The landscape outside my window is dead
or dying - as is the scenery on the screens.
Once there was a time when you could go
to the movies and experience an experience.
Something new, warm, totally and wholly beautiful
like seeing the moon over the desert for the first time.
Now, but now there is no sanctuary.
There are no wonderful river and
where there is water absent of ducks we find
Holden's proverbial frozen pond.
You walk down the streets some more,
until winter and tread across the tired ice,
slowly watching for the campfires. Waiting
for the gallery of voices to speak
of the moving pictures -
you know -
cinema.
Comments
Movies are not what they used to be. I was a movie buff as a child. Ten cents for a ticket to see two movies. I never saw a bad one. They weren't called the golden age for nothing. After the movies we went to the local hamburger joint and for seventy five cents get a burger, fries and a shake.
I love the photos.
There was a time I would save my pocket money so I could go to the cinema. It was the most wonderful and anticipated experience, especially before TV and when it was new. The big screen was exciting, even the newsreels and Tom and Jerry cartoons before the feature. wonderful imagery in this poem. I had a little trouble understanding the first few lines of the last stanza and had to read it twice.Still, I enjoyed the read.