Manhattan Nocturne Poem by Bernard Henrie

Morning. White bandage
across the city.

Men sweat like stevedores,
my wife burns gold
as the Metro Goldwyn lion,
eyes with violet mascara.

A plastic Dorothy Perkins
rose set in a water glass.

Windows gap like missing
teeth.

14th Street pool.
Swimmers tint green;
a beach ball sinks under
the splintering dive board;
a silk scarf scented
with sunscreen oil opens
into claustrophobic air;

I haunt package stores,
melancholy street lights
coming on; merchantmen
lock-up. My mind drifts,
names gone, dates gone,
what remains in a year?
a faint outline of things.

The cities uneven breathing,
a patient in a silvered
iron lung.