In a Boston Diner

I don’t know if the poem posted below has any literary merit, but I am teaching Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman to two of my high school classes and have been thinking about Willy Loman. If you’re familiar with Miller’s play, you’ll understand this poem. If you haven’t, you should.

Willy Loman

In a Boston Diner

Willy Loman
cowers
behind the steam

rising
from his cup,
shrinks

deeper
into the booth,
his overcoat

hanging
from his shoulders
like a shroud.

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If you have time, take a look at this – I Had Lunch with Willy Loman.

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Inspired by a WordPress Daily Prompt.

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4 thoughts on “In a Boston Diner

  1. Scary poem, actually. Sometimes these days I feel like I’m sitting right there with him. What happens when we outgrow our roles or they outgrow us and leave us behind? Makes one feel quite hopeless now and then. I liked this.

    Like

    1. In my philosophy classes, we’re exploring the notion that experience/choice precedes essence; therefore, our essential selves are yet to be established. Trouble and sorrow will visit us, sometimes in spades, but what we chose to do with that experience, how we chose to manipulate it will determine what our essence is. Make sense?

      Like

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