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,
penniless,
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
ambiance 
outside;
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
sometimes,
but it’s sometimes

Sweet,
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
asparagus 

Third, wet, mellow,
traces of shaved almond.

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