Dancing With the Plague
A nurse takes time
To hang a DNA rainbow strain
Of Christmas bulbs
Along my gray window ledge
He plugged them in
Bringing a campfire glow of embers
Under my lids
And to the shirking corners
And the inflating machines shushing the room
Below
In the cobblestone valley of downtown
Ballerinas of steam
Spin
From paper-pushed vents in the empty streets
Window shopping on Washington Square
Laces of faces and hands
Pressed to glass
Longing for suits at Kositcheks
Or gold and silver from Linn & Owen
Mists jaywalking
And flagging a cold evening of vacated taxis
I dream
Of taking my wife’s hand
Pirouetting her across a crowded floor
At the Green Door
To a band bellowing the flutes of Canned Heat
Flinging sweat again like bathers in an ocean
Kissing and hugging and ass grabbing
Elbows bent with Fireball shots
High-fiving
Imploring return to our basic instinct
The perfect gift
Of lust and love marked by our fingerprints.
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