Ben Passikoff
 

Sunday in the Park
 
 
 
 
 

Bird graffiti scaped the land   of Bronx.  The beauties walked   stab-heeled, with summer thighs   sirening slow-motion Romeos   from the wrong side of the moon   strolling in tortoise tempo -   though fish-quick with   the flash of knife to flesh -   who loll in dog-tongued   Taiwan sneakers.                 Still undoomed,   the maidens of the pavement   offer sisterstrong in effigy   the lips of plum, and tuned   knee tendons in harmonic motion,   and fingerwhispered hair.                   The Romeos,   a touch away from together,   accept ritual, condom-conscious;   the girls, colibri-still   though uncaressed.

  (c)Ben Passikoff 2003