No, Not That New York

painting of man drinking tea

Slowly

Did I ever talk about my alternate life where everything I wear is silk, all wine is good wine, I can choose a different super power every day, and my cell phone always has a clear signal? I can’t remember if I mentioned this.

So anyway, yesterday as I was picking out a yellow silk shirt, I thought “Today my super power will be that everything I eat will taste like spicy onion rings.” I know it doesn’t sound that super, but some days I just don’t feel like fighting evil. Don’t you have days like that? And anyway, spicy onion rings—don’t tell me you’re not wishing for that super power.

Because I am also kind and generous and it doesn’t cost me anything, I wanted to do something for you, so I wrote you a poem about my fabulous life, to let you share it in your small, really small, infinitesimally tiny, way. You don’t need to thank me. I already know how you feel. That’s my super power for today.

How to Drink Green Tea

I will go to my private New York,
where stars will rain on me
like showers of light,
golden glitter pouring from the sky.
I will dance
the way a scirocco
whirls across the desert.

I will go to my private New York,
where the young at heart
will consider me deep and wise,
and the old at heart
will call me daring and wild.
I will smile like Greta Garbo,
walk through rooms like Fred Astaire,
and sing lines from tragic operas
with a voice like ultraviolet.

I will go to my private New York,
where I will sew clothing from rainbows.
I will stitch the hems with a crescent moon,
line the jacket with the songs of wolves,
and fold up a sunset for a hat.
I will stroll like a parade
that happens wherever I walk.

I will go to my private New York,
to invent floral ways of thinking.
I will create new languages out of moonlight,
and when I speak,
each sentence will contain an entire month.
I will consult with philosophers and witch doctors
on the best way to cure melancholy,
and I will drink green tea
in the evenings.

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2 Comments

Filed under Not Real Poetry

2 responses to “No, Not That New York

  1. Great, David. Sounds like Billy Collins the way you grab the unexpected word pairs. My private New York has none of the Big Apple’s swagger, my private New York is a walkup efficiency in Elmira. Not much in the way of folded moons there.

  2. Thank you for what I see as a huge compliment, though I’m sure I do not deserve to be compared to Billy Collins. Your walkup efficiency may not have folded moons, but I bet it has poetry, and one can do worse than that.
    David

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