NEW YORK POEM
after Frank O’Hara
Put on your Skechers.
Grab a jacket.
Head outdoors.
Keep moving.
Even in the depths of a Northeast winter
You’ll see something
Diverting.
In front of your building,
The neighbor’s dog, Clover,
Wants to sniff your hand.
Then you’re on your way.
All the babies are out
Taking the air
Bright and alert
They’re bundled up in their carriages.
Now you’re almost at Carl Schurz Park.
Where the squirrels are crazy,
Running up tree trunks,
Bouncing on slender branches.
And the pigeons huddle together.
Keep moving.
You’re at the East River now.
With its Promenade.
Such a resort-y name.
And so much sky.
Are the planes taking off?
On a clear day like this
You can see LaGuardia. JFK.
The river ferries are chugging.
Tugboats are pushing tankers
No sightseeing boats today.
Too damn cold.
The bridges keep spanning
No matter the weather
The Triboro. The 59th Street.
A swarm of high school runners
Huff and puff by. You can see their breath.
Keep moving.
Head to Regina’s Sandwich Shop
The kids who work there
Play rocking Olivia Rodrigo.
When you were a teen
You’d shake the blues off
Dancing by yourself
To Elvis,
Chuck Berry,
The Beatles.
The Cousin Christina sandwich
You ordered is ready.
People say you shouldn’t run away
From your problems
But I say
Sometimes, you need a bit of distance.
Keep moving.
Bio:
Christine Baldino O’Hanlon wrote advertising—for credit cards and cookie
mixes. Her 2nd book, Searching for Sisterhood, takes you inside the male
bastion of advertising in the 1970s, finding sisterly support in unexpected
places. Her poems appear in Her Words, Paterson Literary Review, and
Ovunque Siamo.
