Leave your feedback Share Copy URL https://www.pbs.org/newshour/arts/weekly-poem-pittsburgh Email Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Pinterest Tumblr Share on Facebook Share on Twitter Weekly Poem: ‘Pittsburgh’ Arts Feb 2, 2009 11:53 AM EDT In honor of the Steelers’ Super Bowl victory, we’ve gone into the Poetry Series archive: Pittsburgh by Terrance Hayes Pittsburgh is a fat lady jabbering at the bus stop. She mistakes me for someone who gives a damn, For a native son of her gray industrial breast. She blesses her Bucs, her Steelers, Her father, God rest his soul, was a Hornets fan. She mistakes me for someone who gives a damn, Her blue scarf twisting like the broad Monongahela, Her blue face lined like a jitney’s street map. I’d tell her I’m not from this place: These severed tired neighborhoods, These ruthless winter tantrums, But her long winded stories numb me. She is persistent as snow, as boot slush & Thinsulate, As buses rumbling like giant metallic catepillars. She lights a Marlboro and it means Spring will burn quick and furious as a match, Summer will blaze. When she tells me No one is a stranger in Pittsburgh, do I believe her, My frosty fairy foster-Mamma, My stout rambling metaphor? A free press is a cornerstone of a healthy democracy. Support trusted journalism and civil dialogue. Donate now
In honor of the Steelers’ Super Bowl victory, we’ve gone into the Poetry Series archive: Pittsburgh by Terrance Hayes Pittsburgh is a fat lady jabbering at the bus stop. She mistakes me for someone who gives a damn, For a native son of her gray industrial breast. She blesses her Bucs, her Steelers, Her father, God rest his soul, was a Hornets fan. She mistakes me for someone who gives a damn, Her blue scarf twisting like the broad Monongahela, Her blue face lined like a jitney’s street map. I’d tell her I’m not from this place: These severed tired neighborhoods, These ruthless winter tantrums, But her long winded stories numb me. She is persistent as snow, as boot slush & Thinsulate, As buses rumbling like giant metallic catepillars. She lights a Marlboro and it means Spring will burn quick and furious as a match, Summer will blaze. When she tells me No one is a stranger in Pittsburgh, do I believe her, My frosty fairy foster-Mamma, My stout rambling metaphor? A free press is a cornerstone of a healthy democracy. Support trusted journalism and civil dialogue. Donate now