Saturday, February 18, 2006
We set out with six hundred miles ahead.
We left behind some lonely women there.
Our mix tapes, backpacks, and Toyota, used
To carve a great triangle in the East:
Thus: Leesburg, Binghamton, Brooklyn, Leesburg
In Binghamton we lingered over thoughts
Of future times, and recent times, and beer
we never liked despite our best attempts.
Our good friends showed us hunched brown houses where
Soft music poured from trim and rusty hinges.
Late afternoon on Saturday we left
And entered New York City, traffic jammed
Out of the tunnels, inching in like blood
Through veins into a hand that held a vast
Civilization. There we found Brooklyn,
Brownstoned and Bridged and both ancient and new.
We avoided those we knew there (except
To spend the night), and slid along the El
Into the center of the beating hand.
Ah God, Times Square was the second coming
Of Christ! Hassidic Jews rejoicing and
Proclaiming! Vendors vending! Citizens
Running! I heard America singing…
Then came Sunday morning with a quiet
Breakfast. We thought to venture out once more
From Brooklyn, though the city still was fast
Asleep. We lingered over streets and ate
Two hot dogs each. We slipped out later from
The city in the dipping sun to drive
Back home to things that drove us out before.
But we told these things to our yearning friends:
Our stories were like myths for our own time,
And we like prophets for each burning truth.