All the hoping and praying
all this city
ever did was
crawl
like a tot to a tit
trying to squeeze milk, milk
and more milk
from her blemished breast.
The harbors’ mother
tarnished to reptilian green
slowly bows to the burden
shows her chameleon skin
and crawls slow
into deeper waters
leaving her pedestal, cloak
and pointed coronet.
I see a wolf… a twin… a New York of yore… I see rebirth… less imperialistic… more chaotic… I smell finer coffee… in smaller cups…
I vaticinate her pelagic return… I imagine her climbing, standing there, arms folded… like Rosie… proud of our twinless town.