Manhattan’s clockwork
ran just right,
trains clanking into grey stations
where you’d stand incognito
among a knot of suited men,
a sliver of white-hot California
slap-bang in the apple,
and now you were ready
to sink your teeth deep.
Upon the roof,
a limp cigarette
between two of your fingers,
scanning Park Avenue
as if it was your playground,
an oven bloated with mayhem.
Your world and their world
captured in muted tones,
the next phase of a life
simmering in your mind
before the snowstorm came
and the sky faded to black.
Written: December 2014.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time, and another in my ongoing city series. This piece is inspired by an image of Marilyn Monroe atop the Ambassador Hotel in New York City (since demolished and replaced by 345 Park Avenue, a skyscraper of offices), as part of a set of photos taken by Ed Feingirsh in early 1955. At this time, Monroe was in New York during what can be called a self-imposed exile - she wished to take on more serious movie roles, improve her career and in general, spend some months changing her life. The title is inspired by her own movie, 'The Seven-Year Itch.'