in the neighborhood
now around 34th street
and park avenue

a bronze statue of an artist
with an easel right before a little park.

inside granite walls, long
wood-slatted
green benches
shrubbery, trees
a pond.
i relax and write.
in the middle
of lonely
manhattan.

now empty stores
large plate-glass-windowed
restaurants
with nervous, floor-pacing
owners in white shirts.

in early morning
the park was always lonely
and quiet before this—

when that was a good thing.