to enjoy

as M. continues her way of life diet,
went solo, i did, to Pasquali’s.
half rigatoni with asparagus sauce and bacon,
oh, Serena you can cook; top of the world, ma.

back on the planet and the little bus to Angelo’s for coffee
when a common laborer comes in for his sips of mocha,
tells Simone that exactly one year from today
the Mayan Calendar ends and the world with it.

i say i read that fifty years ago when i was eleven.
it is amazing how time keeps passing.
and worker-man said it is good that it does,
for all the experience of life time gives us to enjoy.

ibid

At the end of a 1930’s gangster movie, Jimmy Cagney was on the roof of a burning building shooting his machine gun, put his head back and yelled out, “Top of the world, Ma.” My use of the line in this poem was a reference to that.

in the balance

bus riding humming was i,
passing city sights in turns
and fits and starts of traffic.
some jammed thick and slow.

aware then to a noise,
a near persistent, endless drone.
once alert of it, looking around
i found it was a monotone girl

working hard it seemed,
talking non-stop to a boy.
giggling in the light of his attention,
swooning she was.

he standing,
politely nodding,
listening to her winding it out persistently
with minimal pause in her plan.

not a bad looking girl, not that,
though, talkative she was, for sure.
if she could neaten up, lighten up,
take a few breaths and relax,

perhaps he’d seek her out
to stand by her sometime,
with half an idea or something to say
maybe he would chat her up a bit someday.