Poetry of Issue #7        Page 46

Impressive, to say the least One more poem, to
say the most "Good morning. People are boats.
Safe harbor of New York, cling
To the mizzen, the missus and her muezzin
Miss the mezuzah of miscellany..."�It's
A mystery, how sounds become words
And it's a miracle that you still listen
To these scratches somewhere as between
As a head into ears. I am a cat,
Patiently settled at the door to freedom.
I can handle all the freedom, the city
Dishes out anonymity and at day's end
Morning will put on her coat and at
Day's end as she swings open door
I remain sitting. And why not? I am now
With you, no homily. Home. Even The City that
Never Sleeps sometimes Goes to sleep. Good night.

              Bob Holman