NYC NYE

christmas eve: rotunda hotel on heathrow service road,
a mcdonalds supper and a fire alarm wakeup

christmas day: steaming grey turkey pieces in airline sauce,
a movie and a long, long line in miami's dark terminal

NYE is NYC:
hebrew national stuffed whole in white buns and mustard bright as rattling cabs and
turned ankles on the clever designs of painfully styled cocktail rooms and
waiting, waiting drunker downtown as her friends dress endlessly across the street and
a bald man of 30 gets asked for ID at the door
of a ladies' salon that's now a bar
and I won't schlep hotelwards, passport-getting in his tow, I want
strong vodka things under a dead dryer and it's all
LET'S GO TO MOTHERFUCKER. IT'S POLYSEXUAL

in my tiny tinsel cowboy hat, chinstrapped and snarling I'm like:
no, no, no
no motherfucker, I'm too old for all that

let's go to bed.