POETRY KITe ANTHOLOGY

Nine-Ten

I experience no premonition as we fly into JFK
from Boston for a first visit to New York.
We dump cases on the counterpane and check
the en suite bathroom, where we are greeted by
a huge cockroach. The maid soothes us and disposes
of it. We already hate the hotel room, so hurry out.

The open top of a Gray Line bus will orientate
us before trips to Liberty Island, galleries and Macy’s.
After commentaries at Harlem and Central Park,
passengers enjoy a view of the ‘largest cathedral in
the world’, then - to escape lightning and rain –
hasten en masse to the lower deck. Roof seams leak.

Water cascades downstairs. One of the crowd yells
‘Titanic!’ The crushed throng laughs. We transfer
to the downtown tour and look out for streets Ella
sings about in ‘Manhattan’. We stop. Our guide tells
us a few World Trade Center statistics. We crane
our necks to try and see the Twin Towers. ‘They

tried to blow it up in 1993,’ he continues, ‘but hey,
it was just too well designed and built.’ Then -
with no thoughts of his tempting Providence, or
omens borne by thunderstorms - we dine, while
flies circle the dingy trattoria, anticipating a full
and exciting day touring the Big Apple tomorrow.



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