5425. WANT TO BET IT'S NOT TIBET

WANT TO BET 

IT'S NOT TIBET

Every car is turning down Dinosaur Way : each

left has a new right-of-way. We all stand up for 

the tunnel and duck for the bridge. I'm reading

your mumbles from a tray in the yard. Next to

us  -  together again  -  the gates of St. Luke's

close on the garden. Two talkers stalk talk

in the barrow. The Thrift Store is closed

for the night. 

-

In the middle of a city like this, my coat is

opened to the freshening air  -  I want to feel

it, and now I do; the chilled air running down

my chest. In so many ways everyone is

alike; in so many others, different, and

here I stand at the old Hudson piers.

-

Ten trucks, broken down, sit hunched

on their chassis, axles and wheels; a few

old men are spitting their juice in a can

by the wall. Tobacco, cigars,  and 

old bread. You'll want to bet it's

not Tibet, but 1979 again.