HAVERSTRAW
So, yes, I was there. Just today, in fact.
The little leaning church was here, hiding
in its place - while I grabbed a drink at
Horatio's on the corner. A kid on a bicycle
slid by; another fellow was walking his dog.
Everything was a silent scene, working its
way in a nice quietude. I watched the artist -
that girl upstairs from the loft - as she made
her slow way down an outside stairway - had
to be 40 steps and one turn. She made it okay.
Coming down must be easier anyway than going
up. Well, I'm guessing. And anyway, how is it said,
be nice to those on the way up, because you'll meet
them again on the way down. Whatever. Mind plays
tricks. I sit in a silence wrapped with dread. There's
someone in California hating me and someone here,
right down by the Hudson' shore, seeking my love.
I can't turn either way without something weird
happening to me. The choir has a songboook,
yes, but it's been put aside. I can hear them
even out here, just jamming inside.
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