And, we’re back.
Junction Blvd., a train
stop, the neighbor’s mop,
the rhythm’s pop, where
leaves, even those of
the smallest twigs, emit
a beautiful green shine.
If only younger me appreciated
the Boulevard as much as
Wordsworth praised the
beauty of nature. Those walks
to Queens Mall would have
felt like saunters across the
Red Carpet, though simpler
in thought and purer in joy.
Those train rides to Flushing,
taking the ‘R’ and the ‘7’,
comfortably nested in the train’s
prismatic orange seat, then
lent an aroma by the hair
of the woman across from me.
The Man on the Microphone
bids us farewell. And, farewell
it was, having ended up an hour
away in Long Island.
From NYC to Long Island to NYC, Dylan Fei enjoys all things creative, especially the way Allen Ginsberg reads his poems.