Daniel Gudema - poem


4 Corners

That place in Verona, NJ
Where the four corners met,
Where each night humanity converged
At the White Castle
Some with their pickup trucks
Others with their old Datsuns
And then the Mercedes.
The pizza joint on the hill
Tough Newark dudes in denim
The windows blown out 
Some night long ago by a drug bust
Gone bad.
The Clairmont Diner, gone long ago
With its silver-haired recipients
Its Jaguars, green, waxed.
The Cellano pasta factory down the street
Our sunglasses frosted by 
The New Jersey humidity
And our cheap extravagances
At the 4 corners
Of Phillip Roth's consequences
And our innocence lost, and
An erotic meal
Left long ago, in the pool of oil,
Left there in the empty parking lot,
That stands there still now.

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