Poem: Battery Park

On these afternoons,
I want to make
a crowd of well-wishers
recognize me.
Take The Canarsie Line
to Houston and Delancey:
then pass the killing door.
To hear the awful noise
of those Manhattan boys
inside the vinyl canteens.
Then you can question
your only companion;
- how do we get away,
make escape to a park?-
We can’t until next year,
I will let you know when,
after we taste the Hudson.
The Brooklyn gods will ask;-
will we dwell in the mansion?

*Previously published in K'in Literary Journal

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