Naomi Long
 

Blueprint
 
 

On the table     a blue draft of a city    ghostly turrets spiral under a penciled sun streets arranged into a vast grid rumour with trees     cars     lamposts skyscraper windows conclusion of lines     curb on which desire rests a formless invitation pulls me in lends me a body: feet     hands lidless eyes     glass shines in the light as I walk     the city sharpens hardens     into thick picks of ice I stumble     cut my palms on the asphalt     surprised to see red     a sign the city is dangerous -ly, definitively alive in a restaurant     men weigh the thin meat of their wallets     as if to measure what’s left to abide by     a few crumpled bills a snapshot or two     a list of promises broken, unforgiven  I step inside     dressed in a t-shirt, frayed jeans     blue pencil stuck in a pocket like a loaded gun     it came with the body to erase     redraw     I order a meal and the waiter starts to sweat profusely from the armpits  when human sin outweighs acts of kindness I will abandon the city     watch it pull apart     moist paper collapsed in sections     deep pits of shifting lines     melted streets I will remember walking through

  (c)Naomi Long 2003