The states of this great east coast
remind me of one another
like the way I see old friends
in the faces of new ones I meet each day.
I am only scratching the surface
of a much larger issue
when I say this:
Often things remind me of other things.
The foliage of Vermont
is strikingly similar
to the greenery of Southern Pennsylvania
on this beautiful day.
And from the highway
I can barely tell when I have left the boarders of Maryland
and entered the land of Virginia
whose pine trees bring to mind
the ones along the sandy roads of Cape Cod.
And it is no secret that Massachusetts
leads right into Rhode Island,
two states with lovely ocean views.
Once I took a cab
from Providence to Boston
but I fell asleep and ended up in New Hampshire.
It all blended together from the back seat.
And then there is my home of New York,
the state I love with all my heart,
but have been absent from
for some time now.
Because with its interstate highway
joining rustbelt cities
to small farm towns,
this state reminds me of nothing but you.
A Morning Person
At first I thought I was what they call
a morning person
until I realized
I like the early morning hours
because that’s when I feel most numb.
I wake around six
and do the things
no one has to know about.
I go over to the gym
and use whatever machines I want,
followed by a hot shower
in the dim locker room I have mostly to myself.
Then I drive with the windows rolled down,
and keep my sunglasses on
even if it is grey.
Or I ride through Fairmount Park
on my red road bike,
pretending to be on some long journey
and not actually on my way to work.
Other days I go to the diner on 52nd Street,
grab a seat at the counter
and take my time through a bottomless cup of coffee.
On days like today,
I will get back in bed.
I will pull the sheets over my face
and wait for my Dad to take me to school,
just like he used to everyday.
We will stop for donuts and the Buffalo News
and continue on only after we have each read the sports page