Understand, it’s Times Square—tourists, mounted police, theater people—twice as bright as daylight, and first off I can’t believe Finn’s standing right in front of me, because I’d seen him get on that boat with my very own eyes, and now here he is wearing this portentous look that’s also desperate to foreclose an as-yet-indistinct disapproval before he just sags into the inevitable, pulls open the back door, steps aside, and reveals the kid from the chase at the mall and the dolphin I’d heard the kid’s mom call Hector bundled under a blanket in the corner of the backseat, both grinning like our life-force really is the slowly-charging laser the cosmos keeps trained upon a black hole of fear always threatening to reverse by its terrible undertow the expansion of the universe itself. And then Hector throws back his rostrum and trills pure fucksplosive exuberance, Finn and I lock galvanized eyes, and in what seems less than an instant later we’re all in the car, careering down Broadway with half the cop-cars in New York ramming into fire hydrants and fruit stands behind us and there’s this incredibly joyous music coming from somewhere somehow very far away…
Matt Longabucco’s poems have appeared most recently in The Death and Life of Great American Cities, Clock, With+Stand, and X Poetics. He teaches writing and literature in the Liberal Studies Program at New York University, and lives with his wife and daughter in Brooklyn.
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Contact Jackie Clark: jackie [at] coldfrontmag [dot] com.
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