Homesick for Major Deegan Exit 11

Digital monsters
with moustaches, power
outlets in the café
floor, the names
we never got

right—that door
ought to be
locked. Or, then, not
at all. Why did this
way get invented

if no one is
allowed to go
this way? That
would be called
the last
exits to exist.

Redbird Reef

Coming out of retirement to awaken deep
sleepers is one
person’s garbage becoming another
person’s treasure. Blue

mussels and sponges,
black sea bass and mackerel, marine spoils
over a grave of a displaced
life. I cannot count

the number of hours spent riding
Redbirds—the #1, “Last
stop, 242^nd Street, Van Cortlandt Park!”

But it’s a lie—it’s a loop,

a ghost of one beneath
City Hall. I can feed off
this ring. I do eat fish.