Psalm 1:23 PM

Every afternoon now
I walk to the corner of 59th
And Madison Avenue
In New York City.
Which is neither
Nor there.

Each time
I ask.

I ask the kebab guy,
The Uber driver,
The delivery man unloading
His truck,
This or that
Woman or man
Waiting for the light.

Of course they can’t hear me.
I ask myself too I guess.

Except I don’t really know
What my question is.
I want the world –
All the kebabs, cars, subway grates –
To make sense somehow.
I want to believe
That maybe one piece
Of life hangs together
With another.

“Everything is connected!”
You, my reader, just replied
In your head.
Of course. I say that too
Every day
In my head.

Why would you accept
Such an easy answer
That means so little?

I’m not interested in Truth.
Really just the kebab guy
And me,
And whoever walks by.
The light on sidewalk
Outside the shoe store.

Sure, OK,
I believe in kababs. I
Probably believe in you

And not getting run over
In the crosswalk.
That’s good.



For Wednesday Poetry Prompts

Haibun – The Shadow

We live on the Hudson River, and this morning the dog and I sat on a bench watching the working scows: tugboats and ferries, derricks and dredges. I was thinking how easy and fun it was to be nefarious back in the late 1800’s and early 1900’s – hide a boat in the rushes, muffle the oars with rags, row across in the dark with untaxed whisky. Who would stop you?  I walk past the kayak rental with its bright red and yellow plastic boats. With my now bootlegger’s expertise, I calculate that I could probably stuff in a case or two per shell. But they don’t look dangerous; they don’t make me shiver that they are up to no good. I need creaky oarlocks, pitch tar smell in the staves, long flapping coats, not kindergarten crayolas!

The massive push of the river is indifferent. Its tide, running sin out to sea.

Harvest moon distilled
What lurks in the hearts of men –
Bottled shine, soul burns


For dVerse Haibun Monday