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Shylock’s wife looked good….. Course she did…..she’s Shylock’s wife….Blonde Shiksa in a tight dress showin’ it off…Walking among tourists…..Bryant Park shoppers….concrete lions….Midwest protestants….and Halal…..Halal….Halal….

No hands held..just shopping bags in both fists with fingers wrapped in cheesy gold…Bones made long ago…Now she was digging her’s…..

Pilates….strength training…..detox this….add to the rear….take away from the tits….and puff those lips…..a new model…..Jackie Onasis got nothin’ on you…..

Shylock’s wife looked good…… Course she did……she’s Shylock’s wife…..

Girls with black-eyes walk-by waiting for a coded door…opening for relief…. a wash….for whatever….work with me here…..time is short….

Just like a prayer….Madonna becomes McDonald’s Muzak…… hoodies rest on table-tops….. half-filled coffee cups, Sir….Sir….you cannot rest here…You have to leave, a loud Latin tongue tells, Those are the rules sir…..THOSE ARE THE RULES, she didn’t make them…….

Watching with empty pockets…..not an empty soul……all is witnessed….recorded daily…. clothes clean…..hair trimmed…..eyes clear….breath fresh…..no-one knows…..

A white guy showered in humility….crying at the drop of a bill doled out……For whom?…..The constant questioning, Sir….Do you have……Could you help….I just need…..

Yes….yes…..yes…..I get it……

Early idealism begins to fade….fraud is a way of life……You cannot live by the rules….JP Morgan would tell you that…..

And a shakedown is a shakedown…a hustle..is a hustle…..Why wait in-line…..What will it cost?……

Nothing……nothing….nothing…..Just hide and keep your mouth shut….

Roger that……

 

tonight the 6 train will be rode from Brooklyn to Bronx…..never getting off….an occasional nap in between poems by Dugan and dreams of Allen, Jack, and Bill…..

tonight vagabonds will ask for alms as they tread through silver cars….May I have your attention?…..May I have your attention?….some will give while others think of late night carousing and breakfast meetings and mom’s homemade pies and what ever happened to Jennifer?…..and on and on and on and on……

tonight music will be heard whether you want it or not…loud……louder….and kids in bags and swags rapping some torment that happened last week on Hunts Point….or Washington Heights…..or Stanton Island….or even Cleveland……while shots are shot and K2 drifts in and out of Union Square……Who wants to take a walk in the park at midnight? …….This is serious……You can’t even get back home…….Joe warned us…….

tonight cops will look for the sleeping…. hungry…… long…long….long gone and remind them just how they got where there at…..please officer……remind me……

A Cuban bongo beat moves a frail rail of a PR to tiny Flamenco steps on Bellevue’s psyche ward…..hands clapping above his swarthy features…back straightened like a cock….this aint his first rodeo….

Over in a corner looking down at the East River…..which connects to the Hudson….then delivers us all to a land far away….an old frizzy haired yenta asks….Does anybody want their roll and butter?……

Foods are brought to the PR’s…..straight from mommies kitchens….arroz…..pollo……roasted variations of pork…..frijoles negros……plates are passed….more clapping….more dancing…aye…aye…aye…No pappis to be found…..just boys with proud mothers…..happy to see every bite eaten….

Telemundo blares and shapely Mexican broads shake what they got in tight yellow….red…green… and provocative pink skirts hiked up over thick thighs that young white boys crave….Little Jose sits with his right hand under the dinner table…..

And here I am….watching……no lust…..no hunger….no laughter….just looking at the new America…..the new Bellevue…..where English is an after thought…..Crazy is crazy…..count me in…..

Thank you McDonald’s for feeding the masses……

Dollar Doubles……Sausage biscuits……or…..two for three…..Two Doubles….two McChickens……two small fries…..upsale….upsale….let’s do it team…..

Vagabonds wait in line with collected change………business suits buy green salads with the swipe of a card…..women prancing in Pilates pants……Parfait…..Parfait……Who ordered the Parfait……have a nice day……Next…..step up please…..

Supersize……Fries……an increase in profits and waistbands…….That fucker Bloomberg…..he ruined it for all of us…….No more Supersize sodas……how about a bottled water to go with that Big mac……..

McDonald’s is like the Catholic Church…….the menu never changes…..you know what to expect…..they let you know you’re a sinner……..and communion is served while impurities are paid in full…..

God bless McDonald’s……may your profits soar and our penance be paid forever…..and ever…..Amen…….

 

Old queens sat upon tiled tiers in towels loosely lounging; steam poured from a pipe….. hand gestures were made as eyes roved….. young boys playing grown-up….

And then…. two…a move waiting to be moved-on…..a towel removed…revealing a stem withered….the boy voted best begins his work….yet there is no magic,Place it in your mouth, The queen demands, the man-child hesitates……then bends to proceed…..

He remembers an older brother’s requests,I’ll give you a quarter,his offer was made, laying the silver on a yellow dewy grass in darkness with a straight back leaning to a piece of panel as he plied more talk….more quarters, Come-on now…what’s holding you back?…

A hand was placed to the back of the youngsters head….wanting to stop….forced to keep going…..a brother’s laugh…..an old queen’s cackle……a pat on the head as a silent exit was made…….through a foggy glass door…..through the tiny opening of a make-believe-fort……what’s the difference?…………..

The boy voted best sat alone….in a steam-room…..in a fort …….so long ago when power was taken away and life-long demands began…..Do as you are told….’Cause you won’t find a better deal…..Anywhere……

He should have destroyed that fort a long time ago………………

Promises were made……worthless repeated words spewing from mouths with no intent….nothing genuine…..false hopes……just bar-room chatter……I’ll give you the moon…..I’ll make love to you every night…we’ll be happy….just like peas and carrots with a honey butter glaze………. these things we dream…..

And talk goes away……actions committed…..love’s labors lingered…..or….was it ever love at all……maybe just two old queens playing house…..with a dog……a remodeled kitchen…. cocktail parties on Oscar night…..the bar was always stocked…..the table set at seven….

Calls waited for became less and less……flowers fewer…..old movies at midnight…..just put your lips together and blow…..

Twenty years gone,…………..He said,……….. Nothing is sure……………not even a lover’s hand…..

The letter came by way of invisible wires…..satellite…..transfusions…moving objects through air….time….and space…..a stamp would suffice…..

Your mother is not doing well and we don’t have a phone number, she wrote, We don’t know how much longer she has…….maybe days……maybe minutes…..that stroke did a number on her……

Candles were lit at St. Xavier’s, prayers were lifted up and forgiveness was asked….for what….who knows…..it just was…..a funeral of one…..

Remembering Southern ways…..old Christian values of Locust Bayou with a pitch-pipe to keep us in harmony….crackers broken for communion….grape juice drunk…..do this in remembrance of me….

There was guilt….forbidden taboos…..gardens a football field long…..summer sprays for mosquitoes down gravel back roads….a make-shift fort built in the backyard……secrets kept…..questions asked…..accusatory, We want to talk about your homosexuality, she held a gavel……him a punishment…..

There were hospitalizations……for craziness…..two brothers and a sister condemning to Hell for a non-conformist-life of running away here…..never settling there……homeless shelters…..psych wards….Damn’t, can’t you stay in one place? they’d all ask…..No…..no….no…..no…..

Your mother could die soon, the email said……..words from a sister-n-law…..too…too late….

You all died a long time ago……In the name of the Father….the Son….and The Holy Ghost…..

It never was…….

 

She walks through Washington Square Park…..throwing Pixie dust at vagabonds….

Leaves change….a piano is played…poetry is read….and a black beauty disrobes for all to enjoy…..the eyes have it…..

Newly formed couples on the verge of a kiss…..closer….closer….not quite yet……

It wasn’t winter, nor spring that brought me here….twas memories of fall……memories of you….

Neither Toronto…..dear old Paris….Quebec…..or Chicago……only in Gotham did we truly love…..something close to love…..

So what…..so what…….all falls….all fails……all too soon…..awakened all too late…..

She walks through Washington Square Park……throwing Pixie dust at vagabonds…..

And I sit like a gnome…..wondering how she made out…..

To the blonde Russian with curves and scrap English of far away Rockaway………Is that all you do all day…….serve some Pasticio……an egg sandwich over easy….hold the cheese……You do this well…..too well…..I swoon……

Soon you will be swept off your feet….soon…….cash is required as in all transactions…..more bread……

To watch her glide…..pivot…..lean to the right with hand on hip…..longing for St. Petersburg……….Or…..maybe the Upper Westside…..

The waitress at Murray Hill……..pouring coffee with brown eyes watching……looking for perspective suitors…….Some young Turk……some major player…..it’ll happen….

Everyday a dream comes in a thick accent…… and I thank that cunt Reagan for the fall of The Berlin Wall……Rest in Peace Ronny…………….rest in peace…..