The New Demographic
A squeal rounds the corner. The leaves fray
Beyond the dull street lamp’s commands.
Beyond, a fire escape zigs into a row of tins
Of vegetables, one clay pot towering empty
Then up to the roof like a swimming pool.
The black paddy hat set atop a steel drum
Doesn’t smoke, enjoying the view. Seagulls
Fly over Williamsburg. The gear behind
A green awning remains unaffected as flaps
Ripple in the breeze. Cyclists with ducktails
Of plastic glide serenely toward small futures.
An artist obscures someone else’s boast
A wisp of cigarette smoke bisects the day
Bicycles laze against everything with chains.
Portfolios swing alongside soft leather boots
A bridge sticks out its tongue, hard to see.
Cement plaques stuck into brickwork flower
So that even slick with rain they lend cheer.
Violent gusts rain petals into carpeting
And a bathtub squats defiantly on the sidewalk.
COPYRIGHT BETH SZYMANSKI 04.13.2012