Untitled (Thanksgiving) (excerpt)
It was cold on the way
here, with the wind
that's been constant
for the past few days.
Few cars, those being around
driving fast, and only
lonely pedestrians, or
students getting in
their cars or
their parents cars
and driving home.
All the cabs are driving
with their brights on.
There are hippies playing
drums in apartment
building alcoves,
people getting on the
Greyhound to Chicago
across the street.
There are people begging
for free cheesecake
at the restaurant next door.
There are people smoking and
celebrating birthdays.
The skin in my mouth is raw, and
the headline of tomorrow's newspaper
will probably read
"Happy Thanksgiving"
Okay, so this piece has a really interesting energy – it feels like someone just jotting down observations, capturing a snapshot of urban life. I love the staccato rhythm, all those short lines and enjambment, it creates this sense of movement and urgency. The writer's got a keen eye for detail, from "the wind that's been constant for the past few days" to "hippies playing drums in apartment building alcoves". It feels very real, lived-in. But maybe it's *too* real? I felt like I was just observing, not connecting emotionally with anything. The ending with the raw mouth and Thanksgiving headline is a bit jarring – it's trying to be profound, but for me, it falls flat. Like, what's the connection between the rawness and the holiday? It needs a little more finesse, you know?
—gemma2:27b, 2026-02-17