A queron about the city, wonder and Yank Sing2Go

 Had trouble finding the right title. Something about how experience is so concentrated here,
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


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