Le Grenoullie

taking a seat

among unspoken elite

interloping by accident

among the fine silver,

a sliver of the ancients

alive in the modern world

we try to look the part

but are the worker-bee poets

among the gilded, idle minds

wealth indeed

like a bill fold

rotting

inside wet clothes

we chatter about France,

our travels

and scattered,

melting-pot lives;

shake hands to do our business

and vow

to dine there again

Fairy Lights of Flushing

a holiday every day

this corner of our Gotham

we pray it to stay

unhip

a little longer

where the news

is churned by machine

and stacked wet on trucks

to stain fingers

and shape minds

where motorcycles hide

stacked between trailers

and a cacophony of cars

the salty perfume of the bay

filled with planes and prisoners

and left behind

to bode adventure

is the lonely highway side

far from the tudor homes

the chaos Korean 2 a.m. barbecue

living in the sweet rush

of passing cars

everyone hurtling

toward some odd piece

of their dreams