Wrist Deep

A Nice Place to Live

This morning when I woke there was a line
painted, and this much is true, on the sidewalk,
on one side written in plain white chalk, New Yorkers,
on the other side, tourists. So I meandered the border

like a drunk during a sobriety test, left leg on the right
side, right crossed to left as if on the threshold of visiting.
I meet people from all around the world now; met a man
from Florida and cringed at the though, immediately

regretted it. Said, I’m sorry. He said, Can’t really blame you.
Said, It’s a nice place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there.
Once, in California, I told a woman I was moving to New York.
She said, driving’s atrocious, the streets too crowded,

weather weird. No wonder then, when people ask how
I like New York, I took to saying It’s a nice place to visit,
or what California was like, Are there really on every corner
palm trees swaying? I say, Yes, but I wouldn’t want to live there.