lateafternoon nyc — 47th & broadway

lateafternoon nyc — 47th & broadway
we line up for discount theater tickets on an island in Times Square
steel drum island 'goombay' bands beat out rhythms across from “The All Live Girly Revue”
where the best of live vauldeville has long since past as yellow cabs still proclaim “livery for hire” painted-—on-—side ads line—up to
collect fares below a bronze patinaed statue of songwriter/hoofer/showman George M. Cohan
while rescue police sirens echoe
somewhere in another canyon and no one gives more than a glance
at the man from the yellow Con—Ed truck holding an acetylene torch
as if it were a wand halos of sparks flick off his metal boots making rainbows in brilliant fading light shiny welders hat looking somehow like
a reincarnation of hatted-fleet-footed mercury
perfectly situated here as the patron pagan god of actors
we stand in line observing city spaces
quickly filled with another and another face
all of us supposedly leading less meaty lives
because city air ripens flesh
watching korean grocers performing one-act plays in produce sections while we smell hot pretzels knowing how good they’d be with lotsa' mustard seeing yellow electric chords snake out of manholes
from where workmen and perhaps a workwoman watch with us an old woman in a tattered old long dress wash
dabbing her exposed arms and holding her lengthy-dress to reach no-longer muscular or taught legs with lukewarm coffee and thrown away paperscraps before she continues on her way down a trash-littered debris spattered street
shopping cart in tow possessions accounted for as a stunning blonde dressed in spandex baring her muscular midriff anonymous
in plastique fashionable helmet and dark glasses zips by on chartreuse rollerblades creating a slight breeze of erotic moment leaving this city of instant strangers with the ultimate realization that
only tourists ever wear sandals on broadway.
© By Zyskandar A. Jaimot On 5/10/2007 2:19:59