The Ayes Have You (or Restless in Manhattan)

            You walk like a New Yorker:
Face forward, eyes darting, lingering
Here and then there;
Setting pace on spritely feet?
 
Have you ever cursed gravity
            For keeping you from heaven:
Unfazed, unearthed, and unrepentant,
Still defiant,
Still stomping over downcast?

            Around a brusque self-portrait:
Where your dim grey eyes are bright and blue,
Artificial,
Ardent, like Russians marching?

            On the surface of the sun:
Looking down, seeking shadows unfound,
Now overhead,
While your soles melt below you?

            Your hard feet or beaten heart:
Seen stubbed toes and blocked arteries crushed,
Your diaphragm
Trampled by democracy?
 
Have you ever slipped into
             restless melancholia
When walking through undead Manhattan—
            On the day the world ended—
                        On the first day—
From Harlem to Wall Street?
From the Hudson to the East?
From Lexington to Madison?
From 34^th to 35^th?
From the Piers to the High Line?
At Bryant Park?
(40.752068,-73.98239)?
 
Have you?

    
I’ll only be a week,
                Five days up north for work,
Astray from home this trip.
At this time of year-       
                Greeting Winter’s solstice-         
My expectations are mired
In uncertainty
                About the weather
                And its fickle swings
                Between cool and cold,
                Between damp and dry,
                Snow and wet slush.
Crisp azure,
Cumulus-speckled,
                Or sticky gloomy skies?
 
So I stuff my big bag,
                The one I have to check:
Five pinpoint oxfords,
Four pair of lined slacks-
                Plain front, breathable wool-
A pair of shined  black Cole Haans
For client meetings.
                Twenty underthings,
                Jeans, short-sleeved Polos,
                Hoodies, three belts, shorts,
                Thirty vintage tees,
                Pounds of black socks,
Nike Shox,
Toiletries for months,
                Two versatile blazers.
 
I’ve booked my return flight
                Out of Philly, Friday,
Not sure that I’ll make it.
Something could arise-
                Mayan Armageddon-
Weather holds, rescheduled trysts,
Lifelong delays.
                Best to over-plan,
                And cram the bag
                And carry-ons too
                For unexpected
                Contingencies.
Well-equipped,
                Prepared:  neat, tight-packed
                For the Apocalypse.