Poems on Returning to New York After Some Years Away

The Put up OfficeStanding within the limitless line at my neighborhood put up workplace,I be aware the filthy flooring,And the sweet wrappers, and nip bottles, and wads of used Kleenex,And the weary clerks,And the racks in opposition to the wall, meant to carry packing packing containers and manila envelopes,However empty, at all times empty,Aside from one padded envelope with hearts on it, for Valentine’s Day—Solely it’s August.I had excessive hopes! Absolutely the post-office scenario had improved within the years I used to be away,As a result of, you realize,How may it worsen?This explicit put up workplace is just not the one in my previous neighborhood,However the aesthetic—mid-century state psychological hospital—is similar.New York is ever-changing, you would possibly as properly get used to it, everybody says.And a few adjustments are good!Like, I resent being grateful to Andrew Cuomo for something,However I’m in awe of Moynihan Prepare Corridor, its hovering interiors flooded with buttery mild—A wonderland, particularly after passing throughThe hellscape of Penn Station.And the Second Avenue subway, so ethereal and glossy I’m momentarily, dizzily, disoriented.Have I landed in some super-tidy land—possibly Japan, or Finland?However that’s not the case on the put up workplace, nonetheless and without end foul and forlorn.Right here’s a thought:Let me take a look at the put up workplace as a soothing reminder that some issues by no means change.Some issues actually are everlasting.Right here, in the identical previous cesspool I left behind,I’m house once more.BikesThe bikes took over town streets throughout COVID,When New Yorkers found that the whole lot could possibly be delivered,Together with a cup of espresso from Starbucks, for some motive.And other people noticed the supply guys, who no less than had some excuseFor heedless and high-speed bike using—their livelihood trusted it!—And determined to mimic them.I didn’t reside in New York then.What a shock to return, and to search out myselfAlmost murdered daily, within the bike free-for-all,The place purple lights and one-way streets and bike lanes are as nothing—Only a joke to be laughed at, ha ha ha!And by bikes, I imply the entire array:The bikes,The turbocharged bikes,The motorized scooters,The issues that seem like mopeds solely smaller,And another sorts of locomotive issues I don’t even know the names for.Standing on the curb, I whip my head back and forth,Checking for oncoming bikes—Left, proper, left, proper—I seem like I’m watching a ping-pong match.I step into the road gingerly, as if I’m dipping a toe into the chilly ocean,However someway certainly one of them seems anyway, grazing me—Motherfucker!And now, recently, the bikes are on the sidewalk, too,In order that simply stepping out the door of my constructing is likeTrying to merge onto the L.A. freeway, on foot.And when you’ve managed to make it into the sidewalk visitors,You could not pause, except you need the bikes to mow you down,For we pedestrians are nothing however human slalom poles to them—They decelerate for nobody!Not the dads with their youngsters on the best way to day care,Not the very previous folks clutching their canes or their caregivers,Praying that they didn’t survive the Melancholy,The conflict, most cancers, solely to finish their daysStruck down by a scooter.PotWhoa, the pungent miasma—eau de marijuana!After I left town, folks nonetheless needed to skulk in shadowy doorwaysTo smoke pot in public.Exhausting to consider now,When pot is just not solely authorized,It’s obligatory.Exhausting to consider, but additionally nonetheless simply unusual to me—It’s like we’re all dwelling in a Wesleyan dorm,Two minutes after Dad and mom’ Weekend ends,When the mothers and dads have waved out the windowsOf their Subarus, “Goodbye, Jacob! We love you, Gracie!”And the beloved youngsters, free eventually, can lastly mild up.Right here within the little park on the finish of my block, daily is Pot Day:Two boys and a woman, sweet-faced excessive schoolers,On their technique to homeroom, sit on a bench taking part in Uno.They swig from huge power drinks the colour of antifreezeAnd take deep drags of fats doobies,Girding themselves for one more day of boring, boringChemistry equations and trigonometric features.Spiffy younger professionals on their weed breaks come mid-morning,And mid-afternoon brings dusty development staff after their shifts.And as we speak, my goodness, there’s a jolly little trioOf younger males in hospital scrubs, standing round smoking away,On their break from Mount Sinai West.No judgment, however is everybody excessive on a regular basis now?I’ll observe what the Buddhists name mudita—taking pleasure within the pleasure of others.Smoke on, associates! Have a blast!O.Ok., I’m slightly frightened in regards to the three guys in scrubs,Who look too younger to be docs, however I’m form of previous now,And most docs seem like Doogie Howser to me, anyway.I ask the universe to please allow them to not be my doctorWhen I’ve to go to the emergency room after being run over by a motorcycle.♦