I was there
when parliament exploded;
hunchbacked in the polaroids against
heat-warped shrapnel quills
and a winter of glass dust;
fists socked
in coat pocket pits
and my high collar leaning
with the bomb gust.
Skulking's a value judgement,
but sure,
I puffed a cafe creme
on Statton Island
while Martian lasers
took hearty chomps
from Liberty's torch.
And yeah,
if not knowing's likely
to gnaw at you for years,
I was around for
Godzilla v Kong,
curlicuing my untied shoelace
like the g
in a flamboyant autograph;
backdropped
with neon arrhythmia,
scrunched, antish cab husks
and the whiff
of dead karaoke.
