Noon on the Hudson, helicopters chopping
at the sky like a deli salad –
a bowl of blue tossed with
joggers and stumblers and strollers,
a tattoo of Sinatra in wisps of clouds
whispering New York New York while
dogs from every nation make their embassy,
the river embossed with the whack whack
wake of ferries propelled from shore to skyline
and back again, spinning through
the turnstile and the man punching your ticket
like a prizefighter, the main event, ringside
at the Garden.
For The Twiglets
Ah, Mr. q. You wrote a New York state of mind poem par excellence! Nicely done, sir.
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I have been on those ferries… lived in Manhattan, Queens and Brooklyn too.
I like:
…while
dogs from every nation make their embassy,
the river…
Now if only the dogs owners could get along…
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Yes indeed!
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Yes, yes. But careful not to return home with part embassy on the bottom of your shoe!
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LOL! For certain.
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Tossed images in this salad, all very crisp. Joggers, stumbles, strollers… Great! This is filled with sharp edged language that fits the city scene well.
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q this wins! I can taste it. I could dance to it. Well done sir. Old blue eyes would approve.
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Thank you so much! I really appreciate that.
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