my gods are blue whales 

if i still have time
i think i would like
to learn to be a taxi driver
in the city-- i want to go
where you're going--
stop where you're stopping--
& let's meet on these street
corners together--
i won't ask what boy you're meeting
at the Museum of Natural 
History but i hope he 
likes dinosaurs & will
lay on the floor with you
to look up at the big blue
whale-- i make a up a story
where you're looking to
run away together--
walk into an exhibit &
turn into the manikins that 
wear Eskimo furs--
let's stop in central park &
invite some ducks inside 
the taxi too-- 
tell a hot dog vendor to
leave his stand & get
in-- we're all on our way
to the moon & don't ask questions
because it takes one
too many questions to prevent
a car from flying--
we'll watch our reflections
in the mirrored
walls of a skyscraper 
& someone will say that
they look like tooth picks
jutting out of the earth 
& we'll all get smaller &
the hot dog vendor will demand 
to be taken back to his cart
until of course when we enter
orbit & everything seems
to slow down--
you-- the girl in the back
seat of the taxi are a girl
like i have been with bleached
blonde hair pulled back with
sparkly hair clips--
with finger-less gloves & 
with a desire to linger
on street corners--
you are waiting for
a poem to come up 
from the ground-- to write
itself like a prophesy 
on the wall of the subway station
you are looking for a poem--
you are looking for a boy
to write a poem for you--
to point up at the belly
of the blue whale & make some
sense of the body of a creature
so massive that you 
could sleep in her veins--
let's be blue whales--
let's write holes into
our stockings--
let's take the ferry alone--
& when we come back down to
earth the ducks will
be flustered & 
the hot dog vendor will 
curse at me for lost business
& you-- the girl 
in the back seat
who is//was also a girl named
me-- you will meet a boy 
& he will empty you
of all your veins 
& you a girl will believe
you needed a city
to fill you-- 
alone in window
you will pick street lights
out of your fingers like
splinters--
oh girl i want you
to be a blue whale--
swallow skyscrapers &
reject your own reflection--
invite other girls to sleep
in your veins
while they try to find poems--
a city doesn't write a poem--
a city writes a stoplight 
& sticks tooth picks
in the ground in a muddled attempt
at being god--
my gods are blue whales--
not the living ones
but the ones who 
hang from ceilings--
when you get out of this taxi 
you will be a girl
again & you will of course
meet that boy because
we all meet that boy 
but when you're older 
take the ferry alone 
& come back-- come back 
& i'll still be here &
so will the ducks & so will
the mirrors of the skyscrapers
& i'll be the blue whale with
its mouth open--
lay yourself down
inside me when you're 
ready to write
this poem
on your body-- 
teach the people
to come from thousands of
miles to gaze up
at your enormous 
blue body--