Haiku D'etat -Staten Island Ferry Wake,1984 Poem by Warren Falcon

This Sunday of ice cream cones
the locals cruise for a dime.
Pigeons here or there peck pretzels
thrown down. New in town I
read these indifferent faces,
news from Sunday frowns.

Last night's drinks were on you and
old friends. Felt like I had skin again
when a certain rub made wonder but
sleeping it off on your floor I woke up
screaming dreaming death with a bloody
nose; if you wore nylons I could kiss you.
I'm confused. Infused vagrant blood
refuses no stops. Lust cops wait in dark
glasses near darker doors to bust.

I've managed before. Two black coffees
and the shakes, bad. I pack enough clean
clothes for a sidewalk or two. Now I find
myself here in this somewhere floating
toward some shore altogether too familiar
(the dream again)while families squeal,
their cameras pointed at Lady Liberty,
licking noisily their cones, an altogether
painful thing to watch and remembering
you naked, too. I've paid my quarter to get
to the other side even if I get there blue.

Were we talking about rabbit punches
last night, the blank, blond faces of
Stockholm? Which drinks were free?
The dream tells me little except I was
(am)scared and hate this body I'm in.
I'd lose it all but for this one voice here.

Funny, the thought of revival when one
touches another skin. Some god I've believed
in but rarely put to test. I'm going home
to rest. See you tomorrow. Phone me first.

Sudden moment when the ferry horn blasts:

Someone, some kid, is
crying now. Dropped his
cone into the cold, cold sea.