WATCHING

Watching a kite festival

by the island's river quays

though it is cold in the mist

and we start to shiver
in a nature's hunger
I'm wearing a angel-winged scarf
on a white shirt

in a Henry James sort of way

here by the finery of Manhattan
of a once Dutch New Amsterdam

near the brownstone ice pond

of my younger dangerous days

yet laughing
as we all resist leaving

because the suspended sun

is now out and so you begin

to play touch football
supporting strangers now friends

passing by the shouting crowd
but without any brawl at sports

in a proud Fall pattern of sorts

hearing the chilled voice

of my partner who is an orderly
who gives me a passing ball
with his amends to me
for a kicking injury
on the pinewood lawn
as I hear Hans's icy glass

giving me a friend's Daiquiri.