Saturday, May 7, 2016


Like all other places, there's just
mist in the air  -  the deep river churns,
the east river flounces, the Hudson turmoils.
Dave Van Ronk used to have a band here,
The Hudson Dusters. Just another old grand
name from 200 years back  -  the Dead Rabbits,
the Updyke Gang; guys and killers together.
Now, they're only uptown black guys doing
that  -  all that dark canoodling with guns and
drugs and women. Here's a toast, to the jerks
of the world. I'd rather stay still, so here I am.
This coffee cup is dense, holding a liquid steam
where I sit by the Brooklyn Bridge. Five girls
go by together  -  count 'em, five  -  and I'm just
left wondering why I'm still alive. The Brooklyn
kids now, they're all alike too  -  so hip, those thick
glasses, the things on their feet, even their belts.
Sure seems to take money to look poor today.
Not much more to say  -  would I rather be
uptown, say, sitting in Carl Schurz Park, up
on the river, where they bang together,
all that water and boats, and the nice
people in the dog run there? Maybe,
I guess so, perhaps, anywhere.

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