Looking West on a Humid Summer Evening
Posted: August 15th, 2011 | Author: Corin | Filed under: Poetry | 2 Comments »The secondhand AC
ran for ten minutes–
then the glass fuse melted.
Out this same window,
above clashing dishes,
waiters on smoke break,
musty ailanthus,
dim TV dialogue–
with one move
swing to the fire escape.
Parallel the roaring ductwork
up to a broad tarred
and silver space.
Soot covers your hands.
See, higher than flat Key Food,
the avenues of treetops, cornices, spires,
the bank clocktower glowing green and red over Atlantic and Flatbush,
a silent buzzing silhouette of City,
the statue’s gold torch above the harbor,
murky thunderheads over Jersey
like lost stratovolcanoes.
When I was a teenager I was several times stuck in Brooklyn over the summer. Younger years, when my family was more intact, I’d spend the summer in the Pacific Northwest.
As you can see from the dates of the posts, right now I’m averaging about one poem a year. Sigh.