LIC (Long Island City), New York - A Poem (2015)

It is as it was

We move along the suspended
track, winding through
smokestacks, edifices
without proper faces
toward the banking tower
the lone citadel of this
trash-strewn region

I have returned to
the borough of my youth
not out of want
but necessity
as this Barack era
has further stripped
the city of meaningful
work with benefits

It is as it was --
plentitude and barrenness
exchange greetings

I climb the stairs
to the office.

By Mary E. Lohan

After He Signs the Divorce Papers (2011) -- A Poem

"It's over,"
he sobs
into the phone,
his mid-aged
voice crackling,

"And all
she cares about
is how much
she gets
and all I want is
for someone to
hold my hand
to care about me."

The next day,
he spots her car
runs over,
pulls the EZ pass
out of her window,

Tells her
"And go find
your own
health coverage too!"

"What are you doing?"
she yells, mouth
left agape.

Walking away,
he responds,

pass held high,
his back to her:

"Moving on!"

By Mary E. Lohan

On an Amtrak Train to Utica - Poem (from "Four Folded Corners)

Facing south
our bodies pulled northward
the past enlarges

passed trees join more trees
joining more trees
expanding tribes of leaf-tops
flaming
or glowing gold

as we slide alongside the silver, rippling river
bark, stone, sun, clouds

a stubby, railway bridge
a boat,
its sails, tall and starched,
sits motionless
as if painted

moving pictures --
what is to come
passes in time
gone from view too soon.

By Mary E. Lohan

Note: About Utica

Jazz at Cornelia Street Cafe (NYC) - Poem (from "Speaking to the Darkness")

Indigo walls frame
a light, crimson stage
aflame --

we sit jammed
at tiny cafe tables
candlelit in a NY
basement dive,

the air is rich and
alive with aromas
Moroccan hummus,

we order
tiramisu martinis
vodka with ice,

as the hunched pianist
hammers, his knees
pendulating,
feet kicking,
his rhythms egging
the quintet to
weave and swoop,

trumpet, sax,
bass, drums, all
pulling us on
and in,

we swim
and ride the melodic
plaited waves
until the music
fades.

By Mary E. Lohan

Note: About Cornelia Street Cafe