The Ayes Have You (or Restless in Manhattan)

The Ayes Have You (or Restless in Manhattan)

Have you ever been told that

            You walk like a New Yorker:
Face forward, eyes darting, lingering
Here and then there;
Setting pace on spritely feet?
 
Have you ever cursed gravity
            For keeping you from heaven:
Unfazed, unearthed, and unrepentant,
Still defiant,
Still stomping over downcast?

Have you ever put a frame

            Around a brusque self-portrait:
Where your dim grey eyes are bright and blue,
Artificial,
Ardent, like Russians marching?

Have you ever been standing

            On the surface of the sun:
Looking down, seeking shadows unfound,
Now overhead,
While your soles melt below you?

Have you ever voted with

            Your hard feet or beaten heart:
Seen stubbed toes and blocked arteries crushed,
Your diaphragm
Trampled by democracy?
 
Have you ever slipped into
             restless melancholia
When walking through undead Manhattan—
            On the day the world ended—
                        On the first day—
From Harlem to Wall Street?
From the Hudson to the East?
From Lexington to Madison?
From 34^th to 35^th?
From the Piers to the High Line?
At Bryant Park?
(40.752068,-73.98239)?
 
Have you?