Central Square

Its been called a psychic vortex

but Central Square,

it is really just a little slice of Worcester

dropped smack in the middle of politically correct Cambridge

Seemed more a neighborhood when I walked it with my daughter

three years old, not knowing about fear of dogs

or anything else when she's on Daddy's shoulders

talks to everyone she meets, offering bouquets of dandelions

she gathers smiles from all but those who have banished joy

ask why everybody says she's cute

We take the T to Harvard Square,

hang with the streetplayers

already knowing what open guitar cases are about

she takes pride in doing it Her Self

dropping pennies, nickels, dimes

whatever change I've given her into the felt lined cases

That song was very pretty she informs me

after some consideration

later she tells me that people are really animals,

that gorillas and monkeys are the same thing

and that isn't a star its a satellite silly.

Our nights end on the porch

she tells me not to smoke ever again

reminds me to hear her words

I nod and hold her close, warm from the inside out

Those are the nights I treasure

they keep me safe on the other nights

when alone I walk beneath the streetlights and moon

knowing that she is safe with her mom

I feel free to follow my feelings

seeing, imagining, knowing

that there are stars above this city's glow

I smell the ocean,

piss where I please

and affirm that there is nature here at sealevel

that is as vital as the moonshadows that now give the Arches their glow

that heal the deserts sunburn, returning the coolness to sunbaked stone

that whisper the myth of dew to cactus needles and Mormon tea

Its high desert nights, wild blood flows in me

Its Texas nights, my heart knows it to be

Its Boston nights, insist that I see

Would that my body be

where my memories are

I would put a note in the mailbox of Thunder Guru

dance on the hoodoos, fornicate beneath the stars

pay the band, hold my daughter

and call it a day

in Central Square