Oh, The Times...Iv Poem by Morgan Michaels

The next time they went out was to Lion King. Donnie saw videos from the back of a cab, and was impressed by the scenes of transformation, man to beast and vice versa. It was like cinematic Ovid, he mused. Donnie thought transformation topping. He couldn't tear his eyes from the screen and watched the video from the cab seat even after getting a receipt from the puzzled driver. Then and there he determined to take it in, and wondered would Marilyn be up for it, too.

'If I must', said Marilyn on the phone that night, 'but you owe me big for this'.

'Alright, alright'.

Standing in line with the out-of-towners, several days later, they watched a part Palomino police horse with short legs, its uniformed rider standing alongside, receive worshipful pats and other physical comforts from a crowd on 45th Street, many of them ecstatic children.

'In my day', griped Donnie, eying the children, expectant parents moved to Westchester. Giuliani started this. Why, if that horse doesn't appreciate petting; , he continued, 'it's in Hell'.

Somehow, he'd fallen into a snit.

'Ok', she laughed, 'New York's not an edgy place, anymore. Get used to it. Everybody's fled to Brooklyn or Berlin. Rents, doubtless. But, it's not as bad as all that. Don't be such a grump. My, that horse has short legs'!

'Must be Irish', said Donnie, snidely, as the line began to move.

Looking back at the horse she said, with almost equal venom,

'But if it does appreciate them, it's in heaven'.

The living line began to move faster and little by little they moved toward the theater door. Inside, Marilyn waited while Donnie went to the ticket window. Discount vouchers from TDF landed them in the loge.

Sitting in the....