Langston Re-connects @Union Square

Inspiration does not come cheap.
Try $11.10 for this paper.
A brand new pad.
And a box of pens.
Those pilot, sharp ones—
“Sharpies” for short.
12-to-a box.
Coke and smoke.
Picnic table at Union Square.

(A dull film blends the day)
Heatwaves broke.
Better sitting out here than in the air-conditioned bookstore.
With that computer tourist.
I think I labeled her a “dud.”
As trotting down the escalator under repair for a month.
It occurred to me:
Hours’ worth of reading produced
not the slightest glance.
No love simulation there.
Enveloped in our malicious selves,
posted with the dubious of honor.
New York style.
I see you. You see me.
But, we don’t see each other.
Fate must get up and walk away.
Cross-eyed.

Hey, you, left to your seething self.
Join the joyride!
Parade with the clotted mass,
en-route to and fro Farmer’s Market.
Ah! Those iron horse devils.
They never sweat.
Nor exhaust from a hefty day.
Just laboring behind a desk.

So,
the pigeons creep.
The benches are full.
Smell of fried chicken
wafting from somewhere.
Friday, 5:32PM times that start
of a wandering weekend.

Washington Square Park?
Central Park?
Maybe
a long shot…
we’ll wonder some more.
Re-inspiration has returned.
And these pages of strangers.
Welcome me home,
Soul Man!

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