block city

the one-way street is always working
against me. our cities are full of accidents.
me being one of them. kids are trying to build a city 
from cardboard blocks at the library. they construct 
a police station & i am a stranger & so i cannot tell them
to please tear it down. when i was small
my favorite game was restaurant. 
paper money. a plastic hot dog. life is a series
of larger & larger pretend games that never
quite become real. sometimes i romanticize
the dirt times. i wonder if those might feel
more tangible & loud than whatever we're doing
right now. the city was here before me though & before
anyone in my bloodline. it opened 
& asked us how we were going to imagine
one another. when i walk down hamilton street
i like to see myself passing in the windows
as a faint ghost. inside, people are being warm
& drinking coffee & buying lottery tickets.
there are little police stations & big police stations
everywhere. sometimes i look & i see a city of 
police stations. that is my fault though. 
i do not want to look out & see only the fractures. instead,
i want to see the blocks. the places that can
be easily lifted & stacked & rolled & thrown.
the children probably built hospitals & bodegas 
& delis & pizza joints or at least that is
what i tell myself on my walk home through
a quilt of car radios all trying to sing loud enough
for the last rays of sun to hear them.