English poetry

Poems in English


Rondeau at the Train Stop

It bothers me: the genital smell of the bay
Drifting toward me on the T stop, the train
Circling the city like a dingy, year-round
Christmas display. The Puritans were right! Sin
Is everywhere in Massachusetts, hell-bound

In the population. it bothers me
Because it’s summer now and sticky – no rain
To cool things down; heat like a wound
That will not close. Too hot, these shameful
Percolations of the body that bloom
Between strangers on a train. It bothers me

Now that I’m alone and singles foam
Around the city, bothered by the lather, the rings
Of sweat. Know this bay’s a watery animal, hind-end
Perpetually raised: a wanting posture, pain
So apparent, wanting so much that it bothers me.


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Poem Rondeau at the Train Stop - Erin Belieu