Day Two: ‘New Millennium Sorrow’

April 2, 2017

Laney doesn’t like Tribeca at night.
The buildings skulk, the brick ones bully,
the rainy streets stay empty like fled bar tables
where lingering half-drunk glasses taunt of laughs.
Less mirth down here among the ghosts of New
Millennium sorrow. She hears less noise
and starts her mind to panic, sees fewer lamps
and hails a cab. Texts me about her worries:
“Made it out, thank God.” She doesn’t know
what I’ve endured round Chambers and Canal,
the searing dart game with my chest as bullseye
from young American proximity anxiety.
I’ll be strong for both of us. She hates
the spookiness. I hate the phantom limb.

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