“Like in the Russian curse” Poem by Anna Halberstadt
Broadway is lit by tall columns of windows
against the dark background,
a student who does not suspect
she is dressed like a hooker
walks into the Whole Foods
to look for organic granola.
The Strand, an island of books printed on paper,
disappearing almost as fast
as ice caps in Greenland.
Grace church’s spires are lit from behind,
a yellow lampshade
in the Gothic round window
of the building in garden
is surrounded by light.
It must be the priest preparing for tomorrow’s sermon,
or surfing for porn on the Net
while his stern wife cries in her sleep.
She is depressed and menopausal,
the husband, like many men
of his generation prefers
to service himself rather than
deal with her moods and disapproval
or look to improve
the so called communication.
Young men are buying halal kebabs
and falafel from a truck on the pavement,
a woman is walking her dog
and screaming at her daughter on a cell phone.
There’s a pharmacy and a bank
on each block nowadays,
like in the Russian curse,
wishing you work like a dog
just to spend all your earnings on meds.
Still, Broadway buzzes with life
like a beehive even at night.
photo: susannyc / flickr