Slivers of sky gasping for air between concrete monsters
Clouds winking at passers-by
Sun blinking blearily from behind said clouds
I think it dislikes the cold too.

Every face has on a dream,
Wearing them the way ladies wear mink in Manhattan
Not proudly, but with a covetous air
Afraid of someone grabbing them
Before they can be sold or stowed away
.
Do you have any dreams you would like to gently sell?
I’ve got a couple which I just found at the back of my drawer
Stuffed in a pair of mismatched socks.
The French ideals minus fraternity.
They’re vintage, I think I could get a good price for them.

I walk down the street looking for prospective buyers
short on time, short of breath.
Keep your wits about you, there are pickpockets galore
Posing on huge billboards, advertising overpriced wares.
Waiting for you in posh shops arm in arm with brand names.

Faces which aren’t Trump’s kind of American
Pass me on sidewalks, sit opposite me on the subway
Using the same phrases and figures of speech,
Gesturing and gesticulating the same way
Any ‘authentic American’ would.
The rising and falling tones and patterns of speech
Peppered with rhotic and unrounded vowels
These form the real American national anthem.

This happens to one often.
I step out with a purpose and get swept up and away
Carried downtown by the onslaught
Of expectations and hassles of a city
Whose reputation stands taller than its skyscrapers .
I am choking and drowning as I am carried into the whale’s belly.
I don’t sink but I don’t swim either
I keep my head up always looking for that dove and olive leaf
Not knowing I’m the raven.

I’ve got a few more seconds within this snow globe
Of a New York minute before it turns topsy turvy
And all I can do is stand and watch quietly;
A stranger to this city
A stranger in this city
A stranger of this city.
Just starting to tentatively inch my way
Towards its heart.
Hopefully I’ll be a part of it by the time
The globe Is turned over
And that achingly summer-like sky
Comes down on us in torrents.