Rorschach Test

I stand on my hotel balcony
Smoking a cigar
Gazing across 29th Street at an open window in the next building.
A man sits at a desk
Wearing large black headphones
Staring at two wide computer screens.
He sips from a water bottle
Looks up and sees me
We lock eyes for a moment
Nods in my direction
Returns to his work.
When I think he's not looking I snap his picture with my phone
To memorialize the distant connection
He sees me and shakes his head.
He says something.
To me? To himself?
I give a friendly wave with my cigar.
He rises
Loosens his pants
Turns around and places
His naked fleshy butt against the window
Where it flattens into a Rorschach test
That isn't hard to interpret.

© Poem Fix http://www.poemfix.com 2012
Photo: Poem Fix

We Build On Top of the Old

We build on top of the old
Rather than removing the unwanted.
Below Five Points
Another century comes alive,
Tanneries, tenements, saloons,
All buried beneath our feet
Where we find them
Still and waiting.
Theaters and oyster houses,
Danger and death,
Described by Dickens as
Reeking everywhere with dirt and filth.
Perhaps that's why it was abandoned,
Crushed and razed,
So New York could start fresh.
But the remnants remain,
Hibernating,
Finally offering up their relics,
Barrel slats
Pearl tea sets
Condiment and ink bottles
Yellow ware spittoons
Animal skeletons
Clay pipes
Bone lice combs,
All submerged against each other
Hoping to be discovered
To offer testament to a rowdy gang-infested time.
We remove these vestiges,
Cart them away to temporary storage in
The basement at 6 World Trade Center
Where they are given up to dust
When the towers fall,
And build atop them again.

 © Poem Fix http://www.poemfix.com 2012

Birdcage

At 77th and 5th
I stop to take a picture with my barely functioning camera,
A building reflected in a puddle,
Taxi speeding by,
The park behind me,
Welcoming,
Leaves thinking of change.
Tired, I walk a few more blocks and
Rest on a green wood bench
Across from scaffolding,
Twins in a stroller,
A teen wearing a Kong is King shirt.
A woman walks past,
Then turns back and approaches me with concerned eyes,
Extending a dollar.
She says, Here you go.
I'm not homeless, I say.
She keeps the money out and stares at me hard.
You look like you could use it, she says.
I shake my head and simply say, No.
She shrugs, pockets the dollar, and walks away,
Leaving me to wonder who I am,
And thinking I should have taken the money and
Used it to line my birdcage.
Wait,
I don't have a bird.

© Poem Fix http://www.poemfix.com 2012
 Photo by Poem Fix

In Bryant Park

Arrived at Bryant Park early
Because I misjudged the time
Like I have misjudged many things
I find the only open green chair and try unsuccessfully to blend in
Two German women behind me are struggling with English
Figuring out the difference between lend and borrow
And the challenge of s and z sounds
Can we ever get rid of our accents?
Don't think about it
Le Carrousel is turning
Just one lazy young passenger on an immense frightened rabbit
Her bored father looks on
He appears tired and trapped
We lock eyes for a moment then break away, embarrassed
Lovers on the lawn kiss
They aren't wearing watches
Are they on schedule and bound by the expectations of unread email?
I wonder if adults are allowed on the carrousel
And at what price

© Poem Fix http;//www.poemfix.com 2012

Carnegie Deli

Two half-balding men in loose suits
Eating breakfast with a two-star uniform
Days away from retirement and a bad back
Coffee, half glass of milk, orange juice
Muttering about an Italian man
And a hard working American
An executive from Mexico involved in a ransom scheme
The ties are detectives
Laughing about their wives and the terrible way someone was killed
The air conditioner blows loudly but you don't hear it
Dead-end waiters bicker about what table a customer gets
You be the seater 'cause I'm not seating anyone else

I poke at my cheddar cheese egg white omelet

But tourists at the next table brag about seeing Al Roker
Sharing their digital photos
Gawking at the stars on the wall
My server, Poo, is polite
Offering more coffee, my bill, instructions
Pay cashier but leave tip on table
Got it
The coffee is good
So at least that's something

© Poem Fix http;//www.poemfix.com 2012