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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jordan Davis
Jordan Davis
Born in 1970, Jordan Davis is the author of a poetry collection and many reviews and essays about poetry...
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FURTHER READING
Poems about City Life
And the City Stood in its Brightness
by Czeslaw Milosz
Atlantic City Sunday Morning
by Gregory Pardlo
Block City
by Robert Louis Stevenson
California Plush
by Frank Bidart
From a Bridge Car
by Elias Lieberman
He Dreams of Falling
by Ruth Ellen Kocher
In a Station of the Metro
by Ezra Pound
In Paris
by Carl Dennis
In the City of Night
by John Gould Fletcher
Joseph Brodsky in Venice (1981)
by Campbell McGrath
Move to the City
by Nathaniel Bellows
Pittsburgh
by James Allen Hall
Tale of Two Cities
by Mark Jarman
The Barcelona Inside Me
by Robin Becker
The Chicago Poem
by Jerome Rothenberg
The City Limits
by A. R. Ammons
The City's Love
by Claude McKay
This City
by Liam Rector
Related Prose
Emerging Poet: On Jordan Davis
by Susan Wheeler
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With My Back to City Hall, On Yom Kippur

 
by Jordan Davis

The gnats love the highway dividers, 
the freelance pickup artists love the softness of the hands 
of the women who love their friends
for walking with them laughing at the situation, 
lost people love that I am sitting here looking likely to know, 
I love it when I know, knowledge in the form of radar 
loves the cloud cover which resembles my headache 
in its topography and its effect on my mood, 
the path which connects Park Row with Broadway
loves the paranoia which has closed off all the paths closer than this to City Hall, 
Jesus loves the balding man in the striped windbreaker
who looks at my small script and remarks, "Jesus loves you,"
I love the silk suit and the hard candy curl hair
of the middle-aged black woman going by with her dry cleaning, 
I love the sock the bundled baby recumbent in an Aprica stroller kicks out, 
I love from a distance the speck this woman in the tight clothes 
reaches to brush from her shoe, I love the effect it has on her distraction, I love 
the ties tucked into the short sleeve shirts of the men returning from lunch, 
I love the men and women my age strolling
with purpose in their Pumas, the feather tumbling by, 
the drift of the hulking red haired woman with psoriatic elbows, 
the opal in the hairbow of the Hindi woman in white robes 
and the tuck of her husband's shirt into his jeans, 
the ticking of the wheel of the bicycle rolled along 
by a backpack-wearing man on foot, 
the acceleration of an open-roof double-decker tour bus, 
the ignition cough of the not-in-service kneeling bus, 
the change clod and leaf-shuffle of the lower torsos 
and the carry-out conveyor sound of a closed up shopping cart, 
I love the downturned glance of the woman carrying the Borzoi College Reader
   crossing against the light and going into Pace, may all these people have rent-stabilized leases, and may they be registered to vote, in their unions, and in the next election.






Poem from Million Poem Journal, reprinted with permission of Faux Press Books
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