New York Street Scene

Copyright © 2010 Michael J Emerson

This work is registered with the UK Copyright Service.


Crazy lasers cut dry ice;

advertising a natural selection of digits

from the dancers Bloomingdale aura.

Needles of light tattoo sheep entrails

across an omen hungry eye.

A jackpot twangle of words

deal the sphinx a deadly blow

sending him and his riddles

Down to skid row.

Chiselled lips

that dispatched the sphinx

taste delicious, ripe, female flesh.

Spear hand rubs an open palm

down a silken belly.

Noble finger, heavy with the stones or office,

lifts an intricate hem.

A proud head emerges

with a politician’s promise

to rid the modern age

of it’s latest plague.

Hard-boiled gumshoe: foot sore,

spitting words like gob stoppers,

spear hand nursing a 45,

slips grubby fingers into lingerie drawers,

shuffles down back allies

ransacking trash cans.

Every half eaten hot dog

and polyester fold is evidence

of deeper, darker, shadows.

Black and white ideas

in a Technicolor universe

lead inevitably to the mirror

behind the barman called Mike;

edges blurred, knows nothing,

has seen a thousand like this before.

part 3