Midtown Triptych

past Lincoln
     Center and the wind
is up so seems
     to speak
saw you
     through the glass
standing in line
     I swear a quiver
     on your lips
you were
     leafing through his book…
     it’s been years
since Corona
     Heights, backing
into him: dribble,
     hook, swish…
…that beige
     comfy couch,
sipping a stem
     of wine, his cat
in my lap

* * *

The Townhouse
Saturday night—shoulder
to shoulder pushing
toward the piano he
stops to squeeze
by; his eyes  mine
clench  unclench…
…What was it we found
in common over
drink   smoke   talk?
A college campus
—his son, his daughter
* * *

Earlier that night I rose
to the city’s surface
steam through the grate, crossed
crossed again down 7th
past Carnegie Hall, the greek
joint as imagined, chic
—unlike the shirt
D wore (the fur
of his arms) at Castro
and Market waiting
for the light: words were struck
like steel and flint
that distant August day…Then
his visit to Spain, mine
to New Canaan—walking
through the Morgan
with him. And what
our mouths unfurled
across a table of olives
years later—last night…
Dropping me off at 58th he
reaches for the door
I’m fumbling to open, leans
close and plants
what I’ve missed
all these years

Francisco Aragon, "Midtown Triptych" from Glow of Our Sweat.  Copyright © 2010 by Francisco Aragon.  Reprinted by permission of Francisco Aragon.
Source: Glow of Our Sweat (Scapegoat Press, 2010)
More Poems by Francisco Aragón