ON THE STREETS OF NEW YORK
For Natalie Merchant
Let's find the spot where Lennon died; I want to see
If the spot on the sidewalk glitters mica-like
Like I've been told it does. Listen: let's have a contest
Your eyes against mine, let's see
Who can see the most, absorb the most
Of this delicious Harlem-SoHo sandwich
In a single day. You were right: it's a Carnivale,
in the old-fashioned sense, masks
And carriages, High Tea style, delicious cakes alongside
The fish mongers and open-air butcher shops; from the river
Of mannequins flowing through the Financial District to
The empty overcoats in Washington Square Park, from
The bright-eyed con men in the shadows of the churches to
The Yankee General and His Horse at the head
Of Central Park, everywhere you look, this place
Is a parade, a feast not moveable
But moving. This is why
All the great artists (except Warhol) eventually left
New York City: This is sure as hell no place
For a still life. Jesus Christ! How
Can you possibly stand it? All this, all day, don't you
Eventually go numb? Don't you eventually go mad? Don't
You eventually break down in tears? I came here
as a stalwart intellectual, but I swear to God
I'm within an ace of hugging horses right now, Jesus! God!
Vonnegut! Which tunnel to get me the Hell
Out of Skyscraper National Park, across the river
And into the trees, or at least to Jersey, Jesus! God!
John! This brilliant
Granite diamond has me blinded, deaf, dumb, mute, but mostly
Dumb, Natalie! I give! You win!
James MacFarlane Williams