Untethered ballerinas in Queens Plaza cross over towards Sunnyside Yard,
tiptoeing as if they were still children, and grounded acrobats,
heavy from endless aerials, try to avoid the live wire on the bridge,
barely missing the train as it flies over their heads.
The rest of the ones, born grounded,
cross over the Queensboro Bridge safely on buses and in their cars;
they creep slow, along with the traffic, they sonder on, currently unsatisfied,
wishing they could fly and float away, at least, a bit faster
than whatever mood-elevation they’re currently on—
Another lackluster Tuesday, almost electrified
as the commuters slowly gain some needed power as they ride.