It’s fun to see what
it’s like and then go back to
being nobody.
The other half lives
1
It’s fun to see what
it’s like and then go back to
being nobody.
Tourists whisked to the
top while on tenant floors, one
hears “shhhhhhsss” like secrets.
Like a hick I tilt my
head to see the top and
ponder tossed pennies.
In the skyscraper
canyons, light outlines moving
shapes sipping Starbucks.
Like a jeweler
displaying gems on velvet
wealth gleams beyond reach
“We’re domestic,” a
blonde woman tells her daughter
in line at the gate.
Flushing Meadows Park
once a site of hope. There, a
globe pledged future peace.
On a cluttered Queens
balcony he stands, watching
the complex decay.
a dilemma of
riches in tiny topaz
the art of language
“Read my poem? Please?”
In real life I’d get blank stares.
Here, you’re back for more.