Columbus & his new adventure

a new Columbus pulled an old anchor rope
from the deep blue waters
and felt the sharp salt splash of a strengthening breeze
when his sidewalk positively crossed 4th Street and
Lincoln Avenue under a fading street light
in a part of town where arias are seldom heard.

in the near distance,
a young Portuguese woman was walking up and down
the adjacent store front block wearing her red St. Johns outfit
which was tightly form-fitting, making it apparent
she was new to her job but had the support of a fancy wallet.

when she looked into the sky, which was seldom, she would see nothing,
heard only the noise of steady traffic, and felt a slight pain from
the broken heel of the shoe on her left foot.

passing people stopped to watch her
as she wobbled in and out of dreams.

she looked in all directions, then removed both shoes,
tossing them into a steamy dumpster,
where a black cat was seen eating the remains of a dead rodent.

it was made dead because it no longer had a head, and the cat continued
to chew without hurting the poor thing.

but now the cat and the woman's pimp were both busy,
their appetites like a song heard on the passing wind
when hungry ambitions come to play.

i saw her again by the waterfront in lower Manhattan
floating upon the wave of night
smoking near the dawn in ragged clothes
wearing a wig
uncertain how to laugh
with broken glass on the street like a directionless map.

i imagined she would set sail
on a precious voyage toward somewhere else
and was waiting, as do all living bodies,
when an early sun put an arm around her waist.

as for Columbus, his new adventure was too dangerous to write about.