A rose by any name is just a rose.
My mind is unglued, and Someday I Suppose
I’ll get it under control.
Like a Bosstone from Boston,
Like a swan chillin’ in the public gardens.
I’ll make my way home.
I see a sunset on the horizon,
Boston city skyscape, trying to write
While the sunshine is blinding
Blasting sunlight off of the windowpanes
Off the buildings off of 95.
Saturday, the Women’s March happened.
I couldn’t find my wallet. My wife went,
I stayed home and watched. I wish, in retrospect
I went, but want to give my utmost respect
To the movement.
It happened at the Common, on Park Street
Red Line Winter Winds, where Emerson Students
Stay near Essex and Causeway, and down the street
The greenline will take you to Fenway, to watch the
Red Sox play.
I love my city.
I love it,
But I am not done writing yet, so I’m not going to change the
Subject, but write a new notebook,
To start something different.
But maybe I should just pick and roll and pivot,
Say peace to the sheet for the night,
And groove to the music.
I bleed green like a Celtic.
I am a champion like a Patriot
A Bosstone in Boston,
A Sweet Caroline singing Dropkick Murphy.
And Oddball Magazine.
Have you heard of me?
Am I too early, its only 7:30.
I got to come back catch the train
Back get the early birdy,
But I am too tired, so I’ll say peace to you
For now, and come back
Finish this poem in magic marker,
Stylo and Sharpie, make the lines finer and darker.
Make the lines flow smoothly, and glide smarter.
Make the Celtic a Magician, and the Magician a Martyr.
Jason Wright is the editor and founder of Oddball Magazine. His column appears weekly.