Dead Ivy Covers Weehawken Poem by Christopher J. Grasso

Never a day not of Good-byes and exits
leavings pressed together waits to depart
faces and bodies uniform, moving away

the ivy lingers
the brown coiled vines in years amasses
like a mineral stain entangled on the tunnel walls
the same as it ever

Weehawken, the passageway of exodus
In Weehawken, the lines of houses do not outreach
New York City, remote, above the few cliffs
they linger, a disheveled slander, seizing a whiff from a city
it may have, incomplete

But like a sleight of hand, tricked
covered in ivy, gray scaled and unresolved
with adieu’s never ending cycle
aged within its own difficult tragedy to remember
pushed down into the mud of the Meadowlands

The last hug
The name
And the final farewell

The handshakes the finalities
they all cross into here, Weehawken
the unkind ivy, engulfs the final greeting of the end
buried into the distance