We should not allow today 17 August 2024 to pass without acknowledging that it is the ninety-fourth anniversary of the birth of the late Poet Laureate Ted Hughes. The poetry of Hughes was characteristically sinewy. Strong stuff. So today, following our Music theme, we welcome a stirring and sinewy poem by our poet Rob Primhak. It is Day 622 of the daily poems.
San Francisco DJ
He stands by his derelict trolley
just inside the restroom doorway
wire basket struggling
beneath an enormous speaker
through which he plays grime music
very loud.
His hands are the colour of his music
strata ground deep into skin
black lines on his palms
a route map to oblivion
I step over a fallen cable
which I pick up as I leave
pass gingerly to his hand
– someone might tread on it, I say
he takes it, avoids words and eyes,
intent on fretful fiddling
with poorly soldered wires
Men who sidle past him
seeking a brief relief
carefully avoid his hollow eyes
and wash their hands
a little more scrupulously
than they would
otherwise
Rob Primhak