What is seen
And the great actor lists and fidgets,
At a blocked-off intersection,
Near the midtown Manhattan jewelry district,
Waiting to conjure an awoken monster.
And you see him in a trench coat — Yesss —
All alone in the lit distance.
So tight the million or so at the summer Central Park rally,
The anti-nuke speeches bounce and burble,
And you squeeze in, in a glaze of disbelief.
Later you’re queasy at baby births and product launches,
Gulping most at parents’ imbroglios.
Glimpsed experiences still dance in your mind,
Brushing your soul.
How deep they sink, only you know.