Terminal Musings

Finding my way

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


She stares with her mouth open, holding a Whole Foods bag.
His magic amazes her.

Even Times Square Elmos rest at night:
They sit on red metal chairs, finger their phones.

The sign says “I want you” and Uncle Sam stares out at me.
Door is surrounded though: thick metal guardrails.

He yawns out his halal stand –
loses a sale.

Even the Fantomany Hotel has no lights on.
Only his computer screen, as he types into the night.

November 22nd, 2015