Infection Sublime
Infection Sublime
by Odin Roark
with his lone return
on this New York street
in middy’s humid heat
he did see shutters closed
behind antique glass
whose reflection reminded
he wasn’t born there
only grew up in the embrace
of a brownstone haven
the oldness
now new
restoration hipster style
closing his eyes
he remembered
battered front door
yapping terrier just inside
forever on guard for landlady safety
the nightly dash
up dark stairs to the 3rd floor
evading the heel-nipping
four-legged devil incarnate
opening his eyes
blazing sun reflected back
like a searing message
“isn’t it time to move on?”
he sensed the warning
but no one appeared
no one stared from behind
invisible lace curtains
there was no one
sidewalk bare
street deserted
not even the ubiquitous taxi horns
no
he was alone
in Manhattan’s summer heat
the kind of thermal suffocation
forcing the discomfort of false memories
the kind he didn’t need
when melancholy’s purity
would always walk beside him
such was the newly sterilized street
the occupants unaware
how sublime yesteryear’s infection
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