New York Morning, Glimpse Of Beauty Poem

Sunrise, and I read the New Yorker magazine
its poems not of the city, even might
have written them myself, it seems

The heat grows, I toss out the New York Times
Vade Mecum of commute, tired of the weight
of business and estate, pages that I never use

And now the New York streets, unforgiving
red-light-jumping cars, pedestrians running on
adrenalin and wheels, upending

all the slow, a boy on crutches
baby carriage
scattered in their haste

to steal a march upon
the New York morning sun
And even those possessed

of lifetime wage employment can’t resist
the caffeine-driven New York state of mind
the traffic cops, tabloids and terror plots

I tell myself, look up, construction in the sky
precise design and accident, human-conceived
magnificence, the fragile towers, peaks

beloved Chrysler spire, a beauty glimpsed
at last, the New York windows to the sun
and clouds where passengers no longer fly.