Poetry by Matthew Nolan

Jul 8, 2005 by

Look at Me

I am painted in a picture
among tired, weak French Quarter architecture.
I press my fingers against my face and feel the soft wood
which frames crooked glass eyes
set in water-dried warped wood.

Colorful paint swirls capture the Bourbon Street painting.
Rotting in the smell of perfume and vomit,
I reach in my mouth and pull out a fist of wooden teeth.

Pretty girls with ponytails in a herd
graze down Bourbon Street toward me.
Their ponytails are pulled so tight
like their curves and the drapery of their hair.

Decomposing from mush to liquid
I become the Bourbon street corner water puddle
that glistens in the painting,
breeding mosquitoes and germs,
splashing in the eyes of girls with ponytails.

Copyright 2004 by Matthew Nolan

To view more excerpts or to order Matthew Nolan’s book of poetry, prose, and journals Crumpled Paper Dolls: A New Orleans Poet please visit your local New Orleans bookstore or order directly at http://MatthewNolan.net/book.htm

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