New York Valentine
(In November)
It's very impressive what the tide washes in
when you're not expecting glamorous shells.
That gorgeous iridescent one is gleaming
forty paces away.
I ought to run for it!
Down girl.
I hear the best pieces come from Mexico,
riding on the wings of Wilma, yet somehow
arrive completely polished, not a scratch to be found
on their surface-sheen.
Iridescence can bring illusion.
Let's Simplify This:
I met my Prince on Prince Street
and he changed my Tuesday
and my disposition
all in one breath, one hug, one scotch on the rocks.
His unique and impressive worth was
instantly declared and spread through the girlie grapevine,
my blood red and luscious like the wine
we began to swill,
as I whispered glorious words that I dare
not speak of again.
The ether out there responds to such things...
Let's Simplify This:
A date for brunch on a warm November afternoon
became one of those organic sorts of New York days
that I wouldn't soon forget.
For six and a half hours...
I was all yours, New York Valentine.
But...Fuck that Valentine!
Endearing e-mails and pure verbal bullshit aside,
you posted,
then bailed thirty-six hours later
and not an ill-fated word
has been heard
from you since!
It seems, I fancied
(unintentionally)
(unfortunately)
a man in Armani
whose back jacket seams caressed no spine.
Swine.
My disappointment cup overfloweth!
No Worries! Let's Simplify This!
That tide?
It rolls out
just as quickly as it rolls in
and when it takes that deceptively shiny seashell with it
the beach is actually a much prettier place.
Yeah, I met my Prince on Prince Street...
But I am looking for my King.
Present Day Update: The subject of this particular poem was an alleged hedge fund portfolio manager who claimed to be a savant with numbers. Not so much. He mentioned too many coordinates in the City--a City that is NEVER as big as it seems--which easily produced the location of the building he lived in and supposedly "owned." How unfortunate it is to run into to the supers on the sidewalks and have them laugh maniacally when they learn of such claims, then gleefully declare the details of their tenant's truer life and identity. We never spoke again...after I texted him the name of his wife and son. I'm guessing an impromptu purchase of new drawers was imminent.
