Nothing rests my 1AM mind like
The dull soft trumpet of the local station.
I follow it back to nights at Pop-Pop’s
And game shows with grandma
And the tracks by the street –
You never saw them close
But when the sky went blind,
And you looked to the old-frame walls,
You could hear them whistle.
Like the Rosen—— house by the college
Where the junk television is an anachronism
Sitting between the stained-wood doors in a living room
That saw the Union rise.
I hate antique shops but
I love stories and
I can never bring myself to
Throw away sheet music.
There were downpours today.
They entered with Grandpa and left with Pop-Pop –
He brought them back home to Deal.
That’s where the Summer Exodus
Leads the holy Brooklynites.
(And the Brooklynites –
– they bring traffic.)
Who am I to judge the sacred?
(they don’t eat in restaurants and
They don’t love the way we do.)
They bless the roads and intersections
And J-walk into the .עולם הבא
(Who better to judge than a ד(י)ין?)
It’s late at night.
The rain has left.
Airplanes pass, graceslessly, crude.
Profane half-brother of the locomotive.
JA – I’ve told you a million times before,
Whether it had been raining or
Had not been raining
It isn’t raining
the first hebrew phrase means “the next world” or “heaven.”
the second means “Judgement,” and is also my name.
i’ve been reading too much John Ashbery and watching the rain.