Sixteenth Floor Ginger Ale

Sixteenth floor ginger ale
looking out onto Bronx river barges
passing over fossils of urban salt bed estuaries
It was the Ganges, it was the Nile

Houseplant jungles somewhere between Serengeti
and Bronx River Parkway
occupied our time until the next tides a living room monsoon

There were Mallomars on our return from expeditions
behind a green couch in a sea of red shag rug
We unearthed yellowing copies of Daily Worker
a tarnished bust of Marx
costume-jewelry-stuffed closets with jars of pennies for the rolling
manifestos and Bakelite symphonies
It was Chinese checkers under a glass coffee table

A samovar rendered in oil hung above relics of Grandpa
paperweights and enameled ashtrays
It was all on lazy Susan sour eyes spun
It could have been out of Asimov
It was another world in that co-op city courtyard
In the co-op city apartment