46

POEM WITH AVOIDED SUBJECT (WHAT I SAW)

This intense need for Schopenhauer
Pulled me out into the street
In jeans Pumas and t-shirt
And if I wear granddad's suede
Jacket again I'll obliterate the cuffs
(Too big). So it was into the sun
On the moguls of Fort Washington Ave
That I made my will known
By means of sunglasses and pennies
Turned over, a mom with two red girls
All pizza-eating at George's window
Another mom stroller-bound weaving
The sidewalk where a cop directed
A coworker to parallel park.
My habit of staring into the street
Paid off to the tune of a penny
And a dime and a man in a polo
Shirt and windbreaker who wanted to
Ask the opinions of the Dominicanos
Missed me completely as we walked past
The Irish bars by the bridge bus
Stop. The pollo al carbon smell
OK Rev Ike a woman with the white
Smear over her head steps away
From the phone booth and
What can I report really but
Broadway in the early spring
Makes girls with strollers say “Damn
This summer’s gonna be hot”
And the painting at the Academy
Mostly makes me lonely
Except for the debris of the
Manhattan Bridge
All Turneresque except for the green
Smudge of a highway sign

There was that and eye contact
And smiles with two hairdressers
There was a Mega 105 balloon
Handed me by a ten year old boy
Six books for James and easter candy
Some Gadamer for me and
Two cult girls on the one
Or the three disguised as the one
Damn you Osama
A quart of semi-gloss what else
The thick unwashed paintbrush
Of Soho on a Saturday
And Jen Robinson’s muscle bone
And nerve grafts as described to
Me in the Hong Kong mobster
Aquarium store at Broome and
Mott. Oh and Alan Davies
Explaining about pens, Michael
Gottlieb saying about
Westchester, Katie Holmes
Is the only pro in the whole
Cast of Dawson’s Creek
And I am wondering whether
This involuntary closing my fists
Is just emotional damage or
The onset of MS,
The weird warmth in my bottom
Back and neck not reiki after all?
I saw Cynthia Nelson and talked
Under the influence of the end
Of War and Peace, bought
Fresh pasta and pesto and Lavazza
Oro, marveled at Eleni’s filthy mouth
And Brenda’s wild poise,
Ate turkey and knocked back sack.
Now the black blocks of darling
Darkness alphabetize barcode
Avogadros, and mirror armor
Does its number from Grease only
To mitigate the insurance bill,
Whatever that means. I don’t know.
But I’m happy to let the craters
Mess with my shady lack,
All midnight charm algae urges aside.
Viva Berlioz!