::04:09:08::

::: Gertrude Whitney :::

At 125th
None of it really matters
The flags
Or
The rain
I am heading in
To the American Museum
Where they refuse
To give me a job
Or maybe
They are just indifferent
But always seem
Mildly amused
At my knowledge
Of history
And
The fact
That I keep showing up
For nothing
Every Wednesday
And sometimes
All I want
Is to be alone
In the café
With my paper cup
Of tomato soup
And a coca cola classic
In a can
That still has Santa
Still smiling back at me
In mid February

My one slice of bread
Cut in half
To make it seem
Like I should be sharing
This time
Wrapped in a single sheet
Of wax paper
And a single pat
Of recycled butter
In gold foil

Please let me here
Amongst the mercury text
And art baubles
To have this mild comfort
To be alone and write
One more line
For Gertrude
My dark haired muse
Ghosting herself away
In the Chelsea dirge

Let me here
So that I may use
My pen and magical thinking
To cast my wishes
To the end of the museum day
Where I will cash my words in
And find better comfort
After the white cubes close
Their brushed steel gates
To the New York Rain

And I will dine in style
At the Diner
On the corner of 23rd
With much more comfort
As I cash in
On long-gone eyes
One more time

Written by: ~ J.D. Szalla

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