This poem is taken from PN Review 97, Volume 20 Number 5, May - June 1994.
Two PoemsChrysler Building
A machine-age mast for mooring dirigibles
Steel drypoint into deepening blue
My childhood view.
Now behind a frieze of hub caps and mud guards
Winged elements stuck in concrete traffic jams
I spend my days. Lipsticked, eyes emphasised
I devise plans, execute targets, create, communicate.
Thirty storeys collapse like cards when I hit
Subway Level.
The Skateboard Man, his schedule tighter than a train's,
Pushes his torso, monkeylike,
Cruising the rush-hour platform, arm jabbing out,
Thigh-high to the crowd.
The Lint Lady picks, picks… invisible specks.
Naked beneath that torn and matted fur
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