Harlem (Sonnet #493)
Summer Harlem heat melts plastic lawn chairs
To my body. Relief, just a notion,
Wishful thinking in this urban motion
Endless streaming people, no time to spare.
Seated on these brownstone steps, do I wait
For you in vain? Frankie next door crack’d op’
The fire hydrant and kids now dance it up
Soak’d wet. Wish my relief were not so late.
Street band members arrive, set up, and play,
Salsa bluesy street riff, to which we dance
It’s smooth as silk, my feet do want to prance
Marie asked me to join, but here I stay
Without my love I’m lost, and just defer
Do you miss us? My eyes tear up and blur.
© 2017 David W. Palmer
Inspired by Carlos Santana (featuring Rob Thomas), “Smooth”