POEM: CRIES

cries

you'reawhoreyou'reawhoreyou'reawhore,

on the street floating past my window,

like a loon calling from a fog-shrouded cove

where the trees are banked

so high and dark and green,

and not you is everywhere,

so much that I have call out

something—anything,
to know you’re alive; even then.
even now your cries are soon
choked with memory and time:

now like a broken record,

now like a song from a cave;

now the echoing,  
bellowed breaths

of the turning earth;

now the chattering cry
of an old man's cup
as it falls to the floor,

spilling sound,

around and around
the almost empty room.

Marlon Brando in A Streetcar Named Desire

Well, this one came out of left field! I was just finishing my “Salve” blog post when someone walked by my house, I think across the street, shouting what sounded like, “You’re a whore! You’re a whore! You’re a whore!” I went to the window, saying (to myself) “You sound like a loon,” with both meanings of the word in mind. His cry was rapid and it reminded me of a deep-throated bird's call; a loon's call. His human sounds were ugly--at least the words, yet oddly beautiful at the same time, like those of a loon. And they were just as lonely. 
     I didn’t see anyone when I got to the window, and I just wrote this as is. I've gone back and done a bit of editing to it but it is mostly as was originally written, straight up. The “old man’s cup” came from Ralph McTell’s marvelous song, Streets of London, though he has "tea cup" in the song. And in my head, I had the scene from A Streetcar Named Desire , where Brando is shouting up to his gal: "Stella! Heyyy, Stella! Stel-laaa!!” A truly steamy scene, indeed! (And for those who don’t know who Marlon Brando was—well, I give up!) 
     Those were the thoughts rolling round my brain pan after the fellow walked past my place yelling whatever he was yelling to his Stella. I’ll add more comments if any occur. On Sunday, I changed the speaker, from being a passive recorder, listening and responding to a cry in the street, to one where his or her memory comes into play.
Cheers.

"I'm moon-walking outta here!"