A microscopic Saturday nightA Poem by Luke RittaA poem about Saturday night across the world. Mexico City: A weeping mother holds her dead teenage son in her trembling hands. A crowded wedding takes place in the suburbs of Lahore. Incense sticks and candles burn at a funeral in Beijing. A happy German family watch television together. The West coast of America: A teenager spend many hours on the Internet. A wealthy businessman looks forward to taking his wife to a very expensive restaurant in the heart of Paris. Deranged, upset and lonely...A homeless man looks forward to everything. An old man sucks in his last gasp of oxygen in a care home in Rome. The chaotic streets of Calcutta! A disabled woman asks for money with a smile on her face. Children with utter joy in their hearts play football on the dusty roads Senegal. A middle aged man drinks expensive wine with his wife in western Australia and then heads off to bed with blurred vision. On the streets of London a young woman lays on a wet pavement with vomit smeared across her pretty face. A healthy baby is born in Morocco. An old woman dies in Israel. A father and his two sons gaze into a crackling fire as they camp in Northern Canada. A young man in his Sao Paulo watches an independent movie; halfway through the movie he sheds a tear. A party is in full swing in a Brooklyn apartment. Good-looking humans flirt and dance all night long. A lonesome woman reads a novel over candlelight in a wooden shack on outskirts of St Petersburg A board housewife walks around a huge supermarket in Tokyo. A Norwegian girl has her first orgasm. Kabul, Afghanistan: a man hands out bowls of cardamom infused rice and skews of spicy lamb from his street cart. In a small Spanish town a middle-aged woman does absolutely nothing.
© 2012 Luke RittaFeatured Review
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StatsAuthorLuke RittaLondon, United KingdomAboutHi, I am 26 and from London. I love writing short stories, poems and novels. My writing is a bit like Jack Kerouac and Ernest Hemingway. I love reading classic Literature, from Tolstoy to Proust, I .. more..Writing
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