EXPECTATIONS

You cannot expect
the awkwardness
of your adolescence
to make any sense
of your sudden
marathon victory
on these reproachable fields
of Central Park
the early spring passed me by
with a red apple in my mouth
writing odes like Walt
would have you be cool
in his dusty shadows
after a long night
wrapped day dreams
around us
waking me up
at seven in the morning
not wanting to go to school
on the west side of Manhattan
though competing
with Sappho,Virgil and Latin
here under hedges
where others make out
that they made out
behind an esplanade of trees
hidden by memories
of alternate road signs
affirming in their accents
that they found their partner
in their forays leaving packs
of protections
to witness a disappearing
once iced angel snowman
reminding me of Baudelaire
standing there on the grass
by a lost sneaker
from soccer practice,
a raincoat of satin
slips over the bench
from a soap opera star
jogging by me
her red hairpin boxes
here in my plumbline
without a care,
an accordion player
speaks to me in Armenian
of his boyhood in Yerevan.