Neighborhoods Poem by Joseph Narusiewicz

Sage eyes in the rainbow of pain
Desire is a flame lit in her words
Deep words like ‘your faux pas
Her rules are a theater of Paris
Where are we going in the blowing rain?
Washington Square in 1962
I am born like an old Martin guitar
The Kennedy’s gave us hope
Black and white photography
Her smile has no guile
Her eyes see all my splits

No Broadway play can heal me
We walk like hungry centuries
Fragments of the medieval castles
Traditions broken by a postmodern mess
Rings of opal bells ringing
I guess love is pretending all is well

She is in love with old neighborhoods
I am just an old street with lampposts
Mantles of emerald windows
Chimes like a Vermont farm
Long Island shops filled with potpourri
The coast of Maine
Bookstores
Museums

Knives of gossamer impostors
Call to the working chains
Romance that needs daily bread
She walks other neighborhoods
Another smile
Another kiss
Old town and new town
I am abstract; he is real
He gives her roses
The moon is magic

Shut your eyes and sail
I am an art store
She walks as elegant as silk
She turns on the open sign
Glass of red wine some melodic jazz
She tells me beware of what you wish for
I am knocking at the door
Day at a time
Love is a day at a time
A short sexy dress
Risqué as a pedicure
She walks into my neighborhood