warm and wasted

the heat in london reminds me of our first time in new york -
sticky restless and impossible to sleep.
up early from the jetlag
drenched in sweat and dreams
unpacking bags to create
some permanence in a temporary home.

brooklyn was dry and dusty, warm and wasted,
its streets sad and stained - like two broke-up lovers'
unwashed sheets on a bed unmade for weeks.
we traced the sidewalk cracks and subway tracks
famous trademarks and public parks,
mini-marts and shopping carts
full of rheingold and hershey's, wrigley's and miller,
mountain dew and alka seltzer
and, in amongst the pancake mixes,
aunt jemima's bright white beam,
smiling hard to forgive the past.

windows open, we sweat beneath the covers here and now
pretending to be there and then - or anywhere or when
that we don't have to think or work or try too hard
to just be us and happy.
well travelled back in time through cans of beer,
we are briefly there through humid air
to smell the hot rain on the street
and sing along to love and alcohol
and thoughts we've loved for years.
but we know all too well
just how the past will pass - come sunrise,
new york will disappear again
replaced by tired, dried, hayfevered, london eyes.