Dutchman’s Temples
vigoroso
by Neal Ostman
The avenues – shaded footpaths,
beneath walls of slick, thick glass,
which husks steel cribs of arbitrage.
Vaunted bins filled with cyber moneymen.
Canyons that flood bobbing pencil heads,
2B soft, 3H hard, millions.
In a shadowed cleft,
Lexington and Grand Central,
myrmidons surge from the rail-runs.
They choke the gray walks.
Flaunting packs, sacks, and laptops,
matadors of unconcern
dodge among the limos,
cabs and blue-fume
farting trucks.
Yellow seedpods race ‘n jostle
swirl past the piggeries,
crate their desiccating molecules
out-of-state Suits,
who pimp with concealed charts.
They seek takers and rush the doors,
clamber the counting houses-
high, higher!
Until they reach those precious,
teakwood boardroom lips
of Midtown!