or in any city. Maybe you have an idea of a different title that could work for this poem?
Texture & Discovery
A man shares my bench, lowers his shades, flirts
with me; but having lunch is why I’m here.
I must keep this custard off my shirt.
In the city, look and it appears:
toothy skyline, transit or dessert.
I’ve been a tourist nearly twenty years,
still looking up at the tops of towers—
still amazed at all the sounds to hear—
conversing, saxophones, ambulance howls—
not commonplace, the cities of earth.
I could wander or I could sit for hours
lost in this chaotic summer dream.
A woman in a sunflower cowl
turns my head right around and then steam
billows up from a grate—smells of beer,
moving bodies, iron and chlorine—
Gotta get back to work. It’s 1:15