Manhattan: 2 Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

I am a terrible fantasist
And I dream about
Nights in Manhattan
When I should be perched atop
My musical bed, reading some book
By a mawkishly gaudy novelist.

I schemed:
Half-awake in Manhattan,
Treading the streets,
With eyes burning the castles
Of constellations
As they extravagantly encumbered
The street lamps.

Half-asleep in a bus
Along the drenched streets of Manhattan
Rummaging past the incandescent establishments,
Talking about food, poetry,
Literature, ballet, children,
Tulips.
I asked you about Manhattan and you told me
That Manhattan is the place to be,
And the sirens wailed in the distance,
A stifling alteration of lights
Red, blue, red, blue
Accompanied by a reverberating
Howl from the vehicle
And you said, that happens all the time
And I said to myself,
You happen to me, all the time.

And you saw a lonely man,
Cloaked in the dark
With his trench coat sprawling
And his dandy fedora hat embellished
Because of his cigarette
And you told me that he was
A terrifying man and that he looked
So forlorn
And I nodded in approval
As if sedated by your air of
Manhattan fancy
And I could have told you
That I am not a terrifying man,
Albeit, a terrified man
And that I was scared that you’d
Leave me here in Manhattan
And I’d be compelled to wear
A trench coat, and a flimsy fedora hat,
With a cigarette hanging on my lips
That reeked of lost love