Riffraff
A casual, under-the-breath
comment, though she might as well
have shouted it in my face.
Too bad we have to walk
through all these riffraff,
she said, entering the library
as she pointed to the people
heading for the entrance
with their luggage and bedrolls.
I looked at her and quietly
repeated the word as a question
that hung uselessly in the air.
The meeting was about to start
and there were things to do,
but I could still hear the word
with its terrible effing riffs,
heavily breathing
like a diminished thing
crouching at our door.
*
Gene Twaronite is a Tucson poet and the author of five poetry collections. His first poetry book, Trash Picker on Mars, was the winner of the 2017 New Mexico-Arizona Book Award. His latest poetry collection is Death at the Mall (Kelsay Books). A former Writer-in-Residence for Pima County Public Library, he leads a poetry workshop for University of Arizona OLLI. Follow more of Gene’s writing at: genetwaronitepoet.com & genetwaronite.bsky.social
“effing riffs”–perfect
I love this poem because it takes on a huge social issue, but does so in a quiet, very specific way.
Powerful
Excellent poem. I think this is the sort of poem that is so difficult to write–observation with respect and without preaching.
I love this poem, Gene—a touchy subject so perfectly framed. And “diminished thing” from Frost’s “The Ovenbird,” one of my favorites.
excellent poem, the hallmark of uncontrived verse.
Gene, another example of what you are so good at – careful observation from a compassionate heart that stirs without stabbing.