Ghost City

Dear Diary:

Sugared snacks, People magazines, on the newsstand
where 10 dailies once trumpeted D-Day.

Boxy N.Y.U. dorm atop the ruins of Lüchow’s
where Caruso dined on braised goose and schnitzel.

Pennsylvania Station — Doric columns, soaring steel,
acres of glass. Now a warren of dim hallways

in a bargain basement, it limps along.
As do I, young enough to thrive in the present,

foolish enough to prefer a vanished past.
Final night of the old Plaza Hotel, I stroll

the deserted Palm Court. In the half-light
an ornate Plaza teaspoon gleams.

I stare at it, think of Penn Station.
Then I reach down and take it.

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