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The Library of Love
Gregory Pardlo, b. 1968 — portrait

Wishing Well

Gregory Pardlo, b. 1968

I cough up daylight like I've just been dragged ashore

The Gemstone Line
How does it sound? Why does it work?
The poem
Outside the Met a man walks up sun Tweaking the brim sticker on his Starter cap And he says pardon me Old School he Says you know is this a wishing well? Yeah Son I say sideways over my shrug At the limpid smooth as spandex behind me. Throw your bread on the water. I tighten my chest wheezy as Rockaway Beach Sand with a pull of faux smoke from my e-cig To cozy the truculence I hotbox alone And I am at the museum because it is not a bar. Because he appears not to have changed Them in days I eye the heel-chewed hems Of his pants and think probably he will Ask me for fifty cents any minute now wait For it. A smoke or something. Central Park exhibits The frisking transparency of autumn. Tracing Paper sky, leaves like eraser crumbs gum The pavement. As if deciphering celestial Script I squint and purse off toward the roof Line of the museum aloof as he fists two Pennies from his pockets mumbling and then Aloud my man he says hey my man I’m going To make a wish for you too.

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