Six Urban Love Songs
I. Central Park
Can one think, in sunglasses, in the park; think
with the children playing and the adult banter,
and someone smoking; and experiment, in ink,
through the invading dogs, and toddler-gallivanter—?
escape the Ice-cold-beer-and-Snapple
and the ones who target you when you're alone,
and so they stare, or come over, talking?
But how can I (who've been rather
forget it was just that dappled
and perhaps the shade of arrogance—
that brought me you? and though I tried
you off ("Don't bother me; I'm mean, I'm
the discouragement didn't seem to take—
so I came to accept that you weren't leaving.
Then I'll let these clowns distract me with
there's a weird wisdom in persistance—
I'll stick to my mount of grass and moss and
writing things down, and thinking things over.
The Laws of Falling Bodies, Story Line Press, ©
co-winner of the 1997 Nicholas Roerich Prize. Reprinted by
permission of the author.