as I throw personal items into the green East River,
and leave a sticker message for Yossy
on the first light pole on the puny pier.
Green as the optimism of someone
in their twenties, who is excited
to go to, like, a piano bar, but
be on their phone the whole time.
Green like the leaves of Guernsey Street,
where I wish to live, but can't afford it,
so I settle for it's green shadows
where magic hour mixes with melancholy.
Green like the thumb of a hipster broad
who is ironically into urban gardening,
and growing blueberries on her balcony,
but the green squirrels and rats keep eating them.
Green as my envy for her
and all that she has to look forward to
without me in the way
to soil her great green youthful days.
Green like the eerie stilling of Greenpoint
at 3 o'clock in the Polish morning,
walking down the quiet green sidewalk,
running away from everything.