Times Square At Night

 

good in small doses;
a rose
to decades gone,  
everywhere still a hustle
but now more staged
than uncaged
 
pastel pixels
light the stage
where a thousand characters
ply their trade
as police horses
clack past
 
a pause
to be a tourist
in our own city,
to bask in the false light
and gawk at the nightlife
 
we snap a photo,
a million souls
anonymous, yet immortalized
in an instant

Coffee Run

alone

on a workday hooky walk

away from the stifling desk

out and about

breathing in

the rambling New York stew

a plastic bucket drummer

fills a park

with magic beats

French-speaking tourists

shuffle by

on shoe-sore feet

spy the people

plodding on

drink in the sight of them

and then

move along

bank these visions

for later

for day dreaming

on stalled subway trains

modest joy

in the lonely life

again

Camden, Maine

quilted sky

glittering silently,

winking a thousand times

to the iron visitors

constellation

of houses

are sentries

to the cooing loons

and grunting bullfrogs

by day

the sun-kissed bodies

drift by

in casual boats,

soaking in the trees

and the sea-salt air

harbor chatter

in vacation tongue,

tolerant locals

measure patience

one tourist at a time

Long Beach Island

sun-brown men

jest from baking rooftops,

women with salt-touched caves

wander the sweaty streets

houses larger than dreams

reach soft powder beaches

and ocean, infinite ocean

—in a straight line,

you’ll reach Portugal

tanned sentries

guard the sands,

eye dolphins in the distance

from the crossed hustle

to the mocking ghost town

after season

the waves roar

their clarion call

to giant dreams

and stars make new friends

with a knowing wink