Somewhere in my clutter and my irretrievable jpegs there really is a picture of me, in my birdwatching camos, having a character meet & greet with The Donald (and no, not that one!).
Id'a posted it if I could'a found it.
The Pale Male Experience
Walked up 5th Avenue from GCT,
Met Donald Duck in the Disney Store,
had two dry martini’s with a lemon twist in an empty Oak Bar,
They served me even though I wasn’t ‘dressed,’
Maybe they thought my camo pants were military,
maybe they thought who gives a fuck
Half an hour later. behind the boat pond,
Two men at a park bench share a telescope,
white, yard long, on a tripod
"Heard they found the female near the Delacorte,
believed she caught a poison rat,"
Searching not up in the night sky,
Nor in the Easts’ vast cloudless blue, but
In the Winter’s afternoon sunlight, warming
on a ledge of sticks
"A new bitch already flown in,
hawks bond with the nest, he won’t mind"
February’s come and mating season’s on, as
St. Valentines, lewd Cupids ubiquitous sex race-start gunshot
commences the rapture of all raptors
He’s a handsome hawk, whiter than most,
Stout, sturdy, look at you like he has only two thoughts,
kill you, or ignore you / don’t care,
She's his junior, deeper colors but still paler than most,
Clean, hawkishly demure, likely born & raised in Westport, maybe Darien,
a Connecticut girl!
He’s standing on her back
Chillin’ in the cold shadows, I wonder too,
Is Woody Allen at home? His apartment’s next door,
Writing a new movie? Has he found
the top of his old portable typewriter?
And the Arabs, are they behind the curtains with blinds drawn,
covering the window, under the nest?
"Lived in a condo under a fat chick upstairs,
banged her fat man every night,
thought they’d cave in on me!"
"Imagine fucking neighbors like these,"
he said, looking again at the love birds through his glass
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