Poetry — September 23, 2016 10:25 — 0 Comments

The Elevator and the Pants – Thomas Pescatore

standing in the elevator. There were
three of us there. I was standing in the right
corner back against the fold

we were all wearing pants.

After we passed the second floor the
two other people huddled close. whispering
but I could hear them.

“See he has pants on,” one said. we all had pants on.
“do you see?” one said. “Yes.” the other said.

Their backs were turned to me. I looked
down at my pants. ‘I am wearing pants,’ I thought.

The elevator doors would not open. How many
floors had gone down. ‘They’re wearing pants, too.” I thought.


Tom Pescatore can sometimes be seen wandering along the Walt Whitman bridge or down the sidewalks of Philadelphia's old Skid Row. He might have left a poem or two behind to mark his trail. He maintains a poetry blog: amagicalmistake.blogspot.com.

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What am I?

Bioluminescent eye
That sees by the shine
Of its own light. Lies

Blind me. I am the seventh human sense
And my stepchild,

Scientists can't find me.

Januswise I make us men;
Was my image then—

Remind me:

The awful fall up off all fours
From the forest
To the hours…

Tick, Tock: Divine me.

-- Richard Kenney