On Fourteenth Street <br />The posters throw body parts <br />Into the pedestrian eye furnace <br />And I don't walk too close <br />To the newspaper stands <br />Or the headlines will bleed <br />On my shoes. If I encounter <br />A mud-caked Christ <br />On the echoing sidewalk <br />And he laughs like a hyena <br />When I genuflect <br />I'll believe in his gospel <br />Providing he doesn't make hair spray <br />Of equivalent value <br />To large tracts of land <br />But I don't welcome overtures <br />Or solicitations in public <br />I acknowledge the doomsday sky <br />Resembling a bombed city <br />And the swinging door <br />That each face throws <br />Into the emptiness at large <br /> <br />In the amniotic air <br />My shadow sticks where I pause <br />I'd opt for a floating forest <br />Serenaded by an oboe or flute <br />But it won't happen here <br />Grounded in pizza smell <br />And rush hour scream machines <br />Space is a cage <br />And the streets are magnetic <br /> <br />New York is a worldly city <br />But the present is too discrete <br />If you cling to a past that's too distant <br />You will never feel part of a crowd <br />The shirtless beggar who asks for a cigarette <br />Arouses an obscure double <br />Carved out of porous stone <br />Animated by the wind <br />He fell into this history <br />I'd give him my social security number <br />If it would help him to step into time <br />But numbers are meaningless <br />To those who are not linear <br />Lighting his cigarette <br />He departs into the pink rain <br />Of a Manhattan sunset <br />At least that part of him <br />Which is visible <br />'Watch out for those vapors.' <br />I caution him <br />'The manholes are ghost traps! '<br /><br />Jack Tricarico<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-the-fisted-hand-of-may/
