Blackout Walk

past the mobs of downtown works

and tourists popping flashbulb shots

vulture-ing for window positions

to clip a snippet of the end of the world,

wet with August sweat

foot-stepping on blisters for home, home, home

joined the draft of passers-by

re-routing loutish drivers

firing back pouts and surly shouts

at cabs, trucks

and Fifth Avenue regulars,

helping wage the losing war

against the choking gas machines

past goddesses in relief

with sweat-moist flesh

that blesses haggard horny eyes,

past vacant cabs

and rip-off vans

edge past

half-naked Spanish women

and shirtless men

drumming salsa tunes

under sparkled skies,

watched by tired cops

among the smoldering flares

up, up again

to where men in tank tops

slap down dominoes

over beer and oranges,

a sad sack poet drinking up the darkness

and looking for good times