Red water runs in the gutter, sparking the curb. Watery fires burn in puddles along the sidewalk. Vapor rises in ghostly wreaths about corner hydrants. Water dashes against the cab window. Yellow bombs explode below theatre marquees.
Crowds stand within the circle of yellow light.
Glass doors revolve, pushing coiffured girls Into the arms of top hatted escorts. While chestnut vendor fires sizzle near, A man passes, his suit pin-striped by water, A girl, face masked by purple droplets, Hurries down a subway mouth, eager for warmth. When the painter arrived, I helped him move the sofa, and there it was, twisted around the back leg. A moment of lust must have tossed it there, years ago. I know it was yours.