Saturday, September 26, 2009
Poem #423: Ghosts of New York
[click on the photo to enlarge it]
There was a line by a bus,
A lengthening crowd at dusk
To see the “Ghosts of New York”—
Old men with scary beards.
I did not join the line.
My ghost of New York is
There as I walk into the Park
Her hand brushes mine,
So I take it, entwined.
I tell the ghost about
The chocolate I have
At most special times
So we go, especial, glowing, tall
My bouncing step,
Her white skirt.
This leaf,
Light as a pencil:
Don’t go.
If there was a line, a bus,
For futureghosts,
It would wrap around
The world and again;
We all would pay
To know the joys
To come.
Comments:
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IT IS TOO LATE IN THE YEAR TO WEAR A WHITE SKIRT. OBAMA IS RUINING THE USA FOR ALL OF US WITH THINGS LIKE THIS.
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