Into Milwaukee: From a Plane

The sheen of the sun casts a 200 miles per hour
projected circle
Upon the glinting sapphire waters of the lake below
Where passerby only noticed the water,
frozen at its edges
By the winter's chill that seemed never to stay away
Now turning, the light becomes a monitor
Of a shoreline's worth of activity and preoccupation
Never ceasing in its progress, tirelessly retreating and
advancing
To all points and places fathomable
And scarcely remembering those it will always leave
behind.

Manhattan

While wide-eyed tourists gaze upward at fancy billboards,
tall skyscrapers and possibly God,
I watch them.
Notice their baggy t-shirts and boot-cut jeans
Looking Midwest casual amid alternating groups of
high-end chic, downtown funky and possibly homeless
I am them.
But I tell myself I'm somehow above them
Sporting a short, black winter coat, a native gait through
the crowd and eyes on no one
I fool them all, myself included.
Why do I loathe those who would only treat me more
decently than those I emulate?
I fear it is the weakness that most threatens to destroy
my soul, the world and possibly Manhattan.