The Compleat Taxi Chaser

Dear Diary:

The first thing you notice is
The confluence of traffic,
The onrush of day-lit chrome.
You hear horns blaring –
They burst, leap like salmon
At the dam of stops and starts.

And then you hear the curse –
The curse of the angler
Waist high in this torrent,
Trying to catch a big-mouth cab.

Honey and Pain From a Saxophone

 

Dear Diary:

Sept. 18: Today a saxophone ripped open Washington Square Park and spilled honey and pain all over the sky. I was so besotted I couldn’t even take a picture. Now I’m sorry because I can only find him again with my ears. But it was hard enough to get to Bleecker Street through the tears because all I had to give him was gratitude and money.

Sept. 19: When God wants to make a poor woman happy, she makes her lose a saxophonist, then find him again. This time I got his name. He’s Dusty Rhodes, playing on a saxophone given to him by a friend of the great Sonny Rollins. He tells me you can see him playing here and there around the city. All you have to do is listen, but Google is pretty helpful, too.