Page One

Standing on Shattuck Avenue, 

Facing locked glass doors, 

I glance upward at the metal awning, where, 

Between tinny, tiny starfish, 

Silvery octopus tentacles beckon. 

Above the shiny, slithery coils, 

Thin, tin, twisting reeds  

Climb the white walls, 

Three storeys, four, five? 

Between the waving reeds, a 

Giant sea horse prances, 

Grinning metallic cheer at little fish, 

Oblivious to the steely shark 

Rounding the corner of Ward Street. 

The building is sealed, 

All windows covered, 

Water-tight, dark. 

Suddenly I understand. 

We are submerged in 

Underwater lives. 

Treasures we stored for safety (we said) 

On higher levels, 

We can barely remember, 

Having drifted down and down to 

Settle on the bottom, 

So long ago. 

We scurry, crablike, through the 

Restless traffic of senseless debris. 

Once more I run my gaze up white walls. 

A foot or two below the roof, a blue water line 

Marks the beginning of open 

Sky. 

On the roof large birds perch, alert. 

Their wings, spread for imminent take-off, 

Reflect the sun like mirrors. 

Their sharp, arrogant eyes peer downward, 

Pierce through the murky waters, and 

Judge me, 

Prey not worth diving for.