Late summer washes over the banks
of Baltic Street while limp leaves fade
from green to milky brown.
In the creases, death. Empty schools,
spaces where cars had been, blinding white lines
on uneven pavement. I walk with
a bag full of apples and coffee.
Maybe if I strut confidently those
people on the stoop will think I'm on my way
to something spectacular and successful.
Maybe I'll blend into Court Street,
dabble in crafts, become resplendent,
eat fancy cheeses and jog
next to the Gowanus Canal.
Maybe what I really need to do
is lighten the fuck up about a lot of shit.