City of Dreams

 

        This, before some revisions, appeared in Staple.

More crystal chandeliers in New York City

than in the whole of Ecuador. I'm sure

that everything you ever saw for sale

they have here, and delivered too. The night

terrifies the inhabitants, all from elsewhere.

Thus it is told by Ahmed, who was once

a jazz man, but moved on from that. I saw

him giving Plastiklips to little kids,

asking them if they thought he should keep kosher.

Everything is different in the city,

he says: if you can think it, it has happened

and will again, though not when you are watching.

Thus there are Mayan gods in his apartment,

a defrocked priest named Twee from 502

with a baptismal font on layaway,

and Ahmed. He has been a breathetarian;

he snorts at all the riff-raff in the street.

Caste and kind are important in the city.

Love is on sale, returned if satisfactory.

Ahmed says not to stick to your own kind:

love across lines is all about distinctions.

There's more cash here than in all of Peru,

he learned, having once rented for a week

a girl newly arrived from Lima. She

did anything, without much wanting to,

and asked his help in managing to stay.

No help, but there are plenty others left,

all of whom can buy something, so can dream

of waking beautiful beyond their wounds,

thinking about, but never going, home.