Terminal Musings

Finding my way

Thanksgiving; Union Square

We are the audience of wastrels.
With nowhere to go on a Friday night we stand
separate and alone
bound still to the strains of your harmonica. Its sadness
and echoed, high notes racing
along blank subway tiles tying us each in turn,
void bodies all – none leaving
for the nothing
we have waiting.

November 27th, 2015

Times Square at Two

Two girls follow a pigeon – in
combat boots and black mascara.
Follow it and
harass it. Harass it unyielding
against the kaleidestrobing lights
of Broadway and 42nd.

November 22nd, 2015


I lost my cigarette!” he shouts
and runs after it. Rolling,
brown and white,
clean and contained,
pristine – against dirty black concrete.

November 22nd, 2015