Somewhere
in the middle of New York
a white-and-blue,
Pacific island:
...
sitting on itself,
prim and low
as if waiting for someone important, but
not wanting to seem so.
sitting on itself,
as if waiting for someone,
many boats go by
(no, not that one...)
(not that one, either...)
sitting on itself,
small and proper
proper and small...
(**** is wet)
sitting on itself...
I wonder How long
has he been sitting there like that,
won't his
feet be cold?
**** be wet?
The lonely island...
he wishes someone would come and sit beside him
sit close but
not too close, as if
friends.
in the past few lives but,
not in this one (yet)
he wishes someone would come and sit beside him
quietly for a moment
then turn to him and say,
with sparkling Pacific angel eyes
turn to him and say,
"The world needs you, Steve."
And Steve would continue staring off into the distant, blue horizon where
there's not much, save for a
distant, blue horizon
...
but pigeons are not gulls,
gulls are not pigeons.
and the Hudson River
is 315 miles long.
"My name isn't Steve."