Pome: Walking Down Manhattan

In the blaze of July

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Walking Down Manhattan

the city is white and nude

and the heat comes stampeding at you like the elephants stomping over the hills of Kenya

and i see the summers of 94 and 23 and the yuletide of 08 and the fall of 03 when i was up from a Maryland jailhouse after interviewing Riddick Bowe there about the kidnap of his five children and wife

- the Five-O found bodybags, duct tape in the boot of his sled -

and everyone

wants to be

excited

and no one

tilts at boredom;

and in Manhattan, July 23

i bought a sourdough-on-rye with turkey from the fields of Florida, gherkins sourced from Santa Barbara, CA, country cheese, salami airdried two weeks before in a Calabrian salon, pickles pickles pickles pickles to make your soul

zing;

and i ambulated back out the deli and saw John Augustus Roebling’s monument to the verdant of heart - his Brooklyn Bridge (inception May 1883)

and thought:

time for a stroll up and over that baby

and i chomped my sandwich and the world was a very fine thing these ochre-tinted hours

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PS:::

if

you

are

scared

of

yourself

you

are

scared