Second Avenue
A few bags hanging from both elbows, dangling like obscene fruits
I walk up the slope towards downtown, hands in my pockets, ears in my heart.
I desire to sit down for a while, but the benches are too cold, too damp.
Trudge along, walk past, go on.
The gleam of the East River a block away: an endless horizon far south and north.
Going somewhere? I hope so: these roads do not cease easily.
A few bags hanging from both elbows, dangling like obscene fruits
I walk up the slope towards downtown, hands in my pockets, ears in my heart.
I desire to sit down for a while, but the benches are too cold, too damp.
Trudge along, walk past, go on.
The gleam of the East River a block away: an endless horizon far south and north.
Going somewhere? I hope so: these roads do not cease easily.
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