Refresh. Refresh. Refresh.
I'd give you another day dizzy in its bracket for the reluctant circumference of a sad sad satellite's antiquated orbital stoppage. You can't jump with a lead foot, can't anthropomorphize insect anticipation, can't pixelate postcard nostalgia, can't trace a boy's tiny hand and call him king of anything that crosses your path, your past, your iconographic reluctance to let go the toehold of ordinary New York lasting so long at night, so lusty in traffic & another orphan absently kicking the underside of an orange plastic chair. Poems shouldn't make you wait for them to finish. Like love, they should finish making you wait.
Copyright © 2010 by Noah Eli Gordon. Used by permission of the author.