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