Monday, May 8, 2017

The Snitch

The strangest people in the world 
come to New York
City (yes, all of them,
don't question me) and they congregate
on the Upper West Side, like the balding
Chinese delivery man
with his heavy metal boombox, 
this woman with a cane and
a young man dressed like his
conversation partner
at their favorite Italian restaurant: long
blond hair, red lips, a tight black dress.

I can't decide what is tacky
and what is the opposite,
or what the opposite is,
or whether I should be deciding
at all. An old man
dances by, calling
me a goddess.
Who am I to tell of it?
Who am I to name names?