A.M. Oversight Poem by Morgan Michaels

If I were God
and in passing, caught sight
of you, Manhattan,
on such a summer's day morning,
sparkling
divvying the waters
of the mighty Hudson like the rock you are,
in twain (in what else?) . If I...

...were God,
who is quite old-
bent over and not a little crotchety;
who long ago stopped having sex in any form
and who has only one child...and...

caught sight of you, Manhattan,
monkey's fist of glimmers and glares,
rayons and fountains
and finials of blinding light;

and your miles of highways
on which numberless cars
idle, gleam and fume;
and your banks of leaves, shimmering,
though only ginkos
though only locusts
and, not, say, the darkly-glowering, cloud-like trees of Rome,

looking down and out over all, I would say,
'nice going, Manhattan, even if only the handiwork of men,
you're looking good this morning.
But, you, little man, little barbarian, come back-
when you polished the Chrysler building top last,
see-you missed a spot.'