When the founding Fathers first envisioned
Washington’s District of Columbia,
would they see the numerous
crowds of believers & cheaters
swirl around different food trucks
at the Washington Monument,
with those enterprising vendors
of ice-cold drinks from makeshift
Igloo coolers (only $1 each! they shout),
all those people crawl towards the Mall,
and the visitors who peek in
to see Lincoln at his memorial at sunset,
they don’t respect the sanctity of
the occasion; they are too loud,
their party voices spill out towards the stairs outside
each one feeling the whole heat outside
affecting their skin and bones,
a mixture of flop sweat / hot flashes, they press on
this land of historical wonders
was built on swamp land;
two unusual men who dove / rode the Potomac
into Virginia, those who fought
for their country resided, trained
and/or were laid down in Arlington,
& we, the visitors were watching it all as if it happened again—
Wednesday is not a great day for museums
we found too late; too late in the year
for pink cherry blossoms, these trees
are too green in summer—summer is an intense season
when everyone wants both your money & voting influence—
the colors of the Metro run true as the trains keep moving,
even when the cars are mostly empty on Wednesdays—
but Thursday is coming slowly, it’s still nighttime,
the gin & tonic is doing its magic, the 4 versions
of 2020 Olympics play on the massive TV,
I try to write a poem on a bed finer
than the one I sleep upon at home—the vacay digs are nice,
too nice compared to real life (but that’s the whole point),
& history trickles in a peppy counterpoint—past & present
bow & make an awkward dance, they keep us moving as our visit continued on.
Thursday was a wash before the afternoon rain;
both the Library of Congress
and the United States Holocaust Museum
denied us access; we did not sign up
for early entry, or any entry.
The movers and shakers of Capitol Hill
all eat at Le Bon French Cafe,
where we stopped for a few cold drinks.
before we take over Georgetown tonight,
we drink our salves at the Delegate Bar,
waiting for our room to be cleaned.
Georgetown has the tastiest pizza outside of Naples at il Canale.
My soul almost levitated out of my body—my man’s
fruits de mare fresh pasta dish made him speechless.
Since the other lawyers at his firm think he’s kosher,
he can’t tell another soul, besides me,
of this temporary food nirvana.
I placed two slices in a to-go box at a trash receptacle,
hoping that the beggars would discover it and feast,
but a long-haired, grubby hipster who cleaned
the same trash can with cloudy Baskin Robbins 31 flavored water,
opened the pizza box and promptly threw the heavenly slices away,
taking the box for recycling money.
Does he know, I wondered, what riches he was dumping out?
Friday: check-out day.
Free breakfast still bland, even with a surprise apple turnover.
We walk towards G street on 9th, for shits and giggles.
The Smithsonian American Art Museum can take us in! Yay!!!
Great art, good walking.
Still more hours until we get back home—