Like invisible ink
encoded in our genes
Spring, irrepressible,
suddenly emerges
baked in the sun. Global
warming, tornadoes, nukes,
imperialist wars,
collateral damage
for a few minutes slip
out of mind, out to sea
with bin Laden’s body
and Fukushima’s rods.
We have too few moments
uncluttered. Remember
how joyous life could be?
Recharge those batteries,
chase those metaphors down
bleached trails of consciousness,
bared thighs, short skirts, flashing
like hawks above the park.
I sit here soaking up
the sun unrecognized,
eyes opened wide, sparkling,
decoding messages,
invisible — this park,
this Washington Square Park,
on the edge of Summer.

Mitchel Cohen
May 27, 2011