This will not be my house,
I warned the ghost Doctor;
I want no hold here
after everyone ends up dead,
I’ll end up in Queens
where the work takes me.

We were all helpless
that awful, terrible day;

On the monitors
I saw smoke everywhere
around the destruction,
a gaping hole
where the Windows 
of the World held all time
together, where 
all civilization came to gather,

The news was our only link
to the whole madness;
we were helpless
out in the prairies.

Today is another boring day
at the in-laws;
I want to sleep & regroup
when the music stops,
I want to hear my own heart beating 
while the sky is still clear.

My man’s afraid of bears.

But it’s a mountain,
and the real bears are
far, far, away from the guided paths,
where kids and their parents
explore the zoo without fear,
only wonder, and the only
brown bear is behind bars
with his neighbors, the Vultures
(I counted 20+ big black ones)

Afterward checking out 
the remains of Ft. Clinton 
and seeing El Coyotes
pace nervously in their cages,
we reached the pool area
(so blue and full)

Where Blue Bunny double Popsicles
(mine orange, his grape)
cooled us down
on a hot, dusty bench,
right outside of 
Walt Whitman’s statue.

I am reminded of 
long, sweet summer trips
with the Scouts and my family;
I wished that my niece and nephews 
would someday see this place,
as well as possible future children 
I can only invent in my head;
we would point out the animals
and marvel the history
on the Appalachian Trail,
stopping to eat Popsicles
and smelling the barbecues
on the way back towards the shore.

Going back to Pennsylvania,
we’re leaving Saturday morning.

Storm’s coming without warning,
that’s why we’re leaving.

Deb’s got a niece
celebrating her birthday;
it’s going to be a happy day.

We’re leaving our men at home
so we can have some time to roam.
We both need a break from our homes.

Can’t wait to visit the Amish,
buy some apples at a fruit stand;
the pretzels at Tom Sturgis
are the best in the land.

And the rest stop in Delaware
is immense; it’s where
the whole state comes
to vent…

Not trying to circumvent
any situation,
my frustrations
are coming ahead;
I need this to clear my head.

Going back to New York,
we’re returning Sunday afternoon.

Putting my baby
and me on a boat on Labor Day,
to Bear Mountain,
for some couple time upstate,
that’s why we’re leaving.

I hope we don’t get lost
along the way,
looking out for bears
and his fears & hesitations,

Still, I can’t wait
to leave.
We need a break from our home.

If all the lights blow out,
could we repair the sky?

Fastening the odd velvet
to the outer atmosphere 
with tacks shaped like stars,
it was all ours
like a hair-breath,
like a lost ring from a telephone.

But, all alone,
I did sew up the bits 
of invisible clouds
with silver thread

And as I rest my head
upon your chest
for a short rest,
the horizon
began to bleed
orange and red.

I woke up in the morning fog,
sweet and fragrant 
like berry-green; 
the sheen 
of the twisted, 
black-barked tree
blocked the perfect view

Of me and you
kissed by the sun,
and the loose, invisible 
silver threads 
are hidden in the queue

In the sky,
vast & unending
like love should be,
like a strong tree
growing in the green, 
above the blue seas,

Below the sky,
we could fly
in our minds,
and repair the cracks
no one else could see.

If all the lights blow out,
could we repair the sky?

This is where the
East and West Sides
collide into one,
sharp bow tie,
where Broadway
first kisses Madison,
as nomads wander
in NoMad,
shaking off the spells
cast by their workdays

I shared the handle bar
on the R
with two Tibetan monks
wearing robes of 
maroon and saffron;
they smiled and stopped talking
as I tried to stand past,
but the Brooklynites
heading home to Bay Ridge
were all in the way.

I made promises
I had to break
long, long ago, under 
the shadows of the
mighty Flatirons;
oh, the stories 
they could tell…

I remember us here,
eating empanadas 
at Sophie’s on 23rd St.
not so long ago,
when things were
so much simpler, 
before jobs became careers,
before walks became walkabouts,

Before there was  
just the two of us,
against the world,
taking pictures of buildings 
between the West and East 
Side, almost effortlessly,
making fun of the suit-wearers
and their bow ties,
as they try to let off
some stream
(once bending the old irons)
after work.

As I gazed at Anthony’s
extensive DragonballZ
figure collection 
(among the fun ones
from the Marvel,
DC Comics, Star Wars
and the Ninja Turtles’universes),

I remembered my dream last night;
how all the lights divided
into bright, colorless beams of light,
how those flashes expanded
and laced onto each other,
into a giant, white basket 
around my bed.

It wasn’t frightening;
it was warm and soothing 
as the darkness slowly bled into nothing.

A sudden shift of perception,
too small to be noticed
by everyone else,
had taken place right then.

The onslaught of colored
plastic figurines 
(how could Anthony afford all this?)
was a cool distraction 
from our regular work for a while,

As I stepped away,
white ribbons of light
burned in my brain,
& they remained 
as a flash
of inspiration;
hopefully not an omen
of death, but of life….

Everyone in the know
knows, those who live
up here in Riverdale,
Menchie’s is where
everyone here goes:

Yankees fans after Bat Day,
hurried dads in the Kosher tradition,
cool, hip, young assholes 
making fun of a mom
their own age,
parallel-parking her
white Dodge SUV
perfectly at the corner,
Asian and Greek families
(mostly of girls, who IPhone video with their pals: “We’re at Menchie’s!);
a grown-gay son auditioning
at a play downtown this week,

And me and him,
who’s complaining 
of a brain-freeze headache;
he’s too nervous about 
being chosen for a trial
while on jury duty this week.

Ah, lawyers are
no longer exempt,
like the rest
of us shmucks.

Buck up,
my lonesome cowboy,
we all get to 
do this shit,

But for now,
please enjoy the
the pink-bricked apartment
buildings behind sunglasses,
the birds dive-bombing
in the sky,
the elder ladies muttering 
about politics,

Darling, this is
a good day;
the pineapple sorbet 
is so fresh… 

The hum inside
often gets silenced
by accident;

just a common distraction

To feel inside 
is not easy
but it’s sometimes

like tasting rare meat
covered in garlic salt
and black pepper,
not a usual treat

For the poor,
except when the
blood comes,
then it’s a
necessary evil.

If you will
pour me a glass
of Roja,
so I can close my
eyes & imagine

That I’m in Argentina,
feasting as the 
tango dancers shake,
while the violins start to hum.

A brief rest from moving
to the second floor,
before their lunch
and after ours

After introductions
were made,
we discussed many
vintages of wine
while gunpowder green tea
was brewing

My friend’s son
just graduated from
culinary school,
he talks of wine and teas,
so a spontaneous 
tea ceremony begins

Her mother,
visiting from Ecuador,
was so lovely.
I want to see her house
in Quinto one day

The tea showed us
several colors and flavors
during the three tastings.

One, smoky and metallic,
like pennies on the tongue

Two, more like spring,
a certain grass, maybe

Third, wet, mellow,
traces of shaved almond.

Amazing, what different
worlds one can find
in a tiny cup,
three times.

Before the new faucet
was chosen and brought
after much deliberation,
I saw him at 59th and 3rd.

He almost didn’t
recognize me in
my old sunglasses;
he said I looked like
Elton John

My new dress
is short, 
a red, loose-fitting cotton
marked with white
flowers and birds.

It felt like summer,
before girls
had to wear bras
(but not now)

Strutting eastward
on 59th
like a socialite 
lost from the Hamptons,
it was like easy living
before Monday’s grind

(and it would be nice
if we would have a
working faucet 
before our vacation)

The dog days
of summer 
are still present,
even with 
new appliances 
and dresses
to distract us.