Falling Up: Precipitation
Below ground
(on Brooklyn’s 3 train)
a supple-hearted man
keeps his smile to himself.
Around him
a host of small, mean mouths
clench tight to win imagined battles-
as if they mattered.
Above ground all’s expansive,
mild-mid-November, Indian summer,
a parade of cheap umbrellas
down 7th Avenue-
a drizzle-dream city
fit for an grinning fool
whistling and greeting
strangers as the miles
evaporate beneath his
loping gait toward Central Park.
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