Café on Madison and East 65th

Random choice of the Witney brings a Bourgeois
Exhibition: two hundred and fifty pieces of insomnia. Naïf
Indulgent, only flashes of beauty. Words sloshed in with
Biro scrawl. It rains in idealised landscapes and a woman drags
A millstone from her ankle. She writes: Je marche
Dans la nuit…J’aime mieux rien voir.

On Ellis Island arriving immigrants had to pass a
Literacy test. The source text was the bible. In their own tongue
They read the like of: A great wind came from the wilderness…
Smote the four corners of the house…and I am the only one
Escaped to tell thee. The views from the Registry Office
Windows takes the breath away. Two per cent were refused.

The hotel staff speak poco English. At seven thirty my poor sleep
Is ended by two men sanding a door in the next room down.
I ask them to stop. They look at me blank. I ask in Spanish,
They say Perdon, and stop. I sleep in til eleven. At some point
In a heat soaked night, public service TV showed footage of
John and Bobby D, too young, too gauche, in the back of a yellow cab.
Zimmerman cracked wise,

talked about Cash,
acted like he owned
the whole damned town.

27.06