Unless the Train Was Late

Waiting up-state for the train
late from Penn Station,

      "On the streets of Manhattan,
      all the beautiful women
      in their furs."

I sit beside the most beautiful
elderly man, with pale olive skin
and youthful hands.

      "He says nothing
      he is a poet."

From a bag on the seat between us,
he opens a gift tray of expensive men's cologne,
removes the cap and splashes it into his palm
like after-shave, enlivened and laughing.

      "Hah! Now we're sailing!"

Places two jeweler's boxes in his lap,
lifts the lids and fingers strands of pearls.

      "My mother,
      she brought me into the world."

He is fourteen dollars short of a one-way ticket.
They have counted his money, those bastards at Amtrak,
told him they'd try to get him a taxi
to the Greyhound depot.

      "The taxi driver wanted to take me to Saratoga,
      said I could sell my paintings there."

Everyone watches him fumbling to repack.
More gracefully, he accepts my offer of help.
He has hands like Christ, I think,
and I ask him where he is going.

      "To Manhattan,
      I am taking pearls to my mother."

The station is full and quiet and peculiar
while I make conversation, ask if he lives there.

      "I am an artist.
      I have a studio on East 66th Street,
      a prestigious address:
      beautiful women, no beggars!"

He looks at me from under his Ralph Lauren cap,
the bluest eyes, clasps together his hands
and gives me the thumbs-up.

      "Aren't you kind.
      Don't worry about me, please.
      I know I am dying."

He opens his arms slowly, gentle and wide.
We are alone.

      "I have seen great women."

He begins to applaud me.

The station is full and quiet and peculiar.


Walter and His Fat Wife I

pay day
Walter is walking toward home
with Caribbean take-out
he is the darkest shadow at dusk
and even in late October
neighbors gather close against the chill
a woman is singing gospel on her stoop
plaiting cornrows in a child's hair
Walter nods and smiles
making his way to his fat wife
already he can hear Tito Puente
coming from an apartment in the rear
imagining his wife's hips in motion
making his way up three flights of stairs
Walter is singing
she is waiting at the door
in a red dress with tiny white flowers
and kisses him lightly on the lips
he could fall to the floor
on his knees and wrap his arms
around his wife's thighs
Walter likes the wave of her breasts
against his chest when they are dancing
sometimes they don't draw the curtains at all
and anyone could look over the sill
to see Walter holding his fat wife
she keeps the glass in the windows clean
so whether it be the moon or sun
to shine on them like candle light
in their bed, she is blue-eyed and gentle
while on the first floor a man is playing the flute
as Walter stirs in her softness.


Walter and His Fat Wife II

a hot and sticky
Friday evening in July
and Walter is sitting
on the hood of his ’84 Buick
everyone is waiting
for the ice cream truck
even the old woman two tenements up
in her pink terry slippers
children are wrapped around the banisters
and Walter is seducing his fat wife
reaching for her heavy hips
she allows him her fingertips
and averts her eyes
everyone is watching
she is shy
Walter is humming
something Billie Holiday
that only his wife can hear
and he doesn’t take his eyes off her
the tender way she places her hand
in the child’s
to go into the street
the softness of her words
to the neighbors
the way her eyes well up
at the unkindness of men
who are laughing.
god, how Walter loves his wife,
fragile
as blue glass.


Walter and His Fat Wife III

on a cold and clear December night
Walter walks with a bounce in his step
after a drink at the Oasis
and turning down three dances
the guys tease him -
"Walter, man, you blind in one eye?!"
and he knows it’s time to go home
and dance with his wife
to Viva Bob Moore
women are standing in their doorways
for Friday night dates or deliveries -
"Good evenin', Walter"
and he nods with one milky eye to the ground
Walter’s wife is standing in her doorway too
he swears his breath has made it home before him
she is fat and lovely with that smile on her face
placing her warm hands on both his cheeks
they close the door
and after they have laughed
Walter breathes the scent between her breasts -
soon she closes both his lids
with gentle fingertips
and he is dreaming
in the bluest hues.