Annette Libeskind Berkovits

One day we will
wake up in
Salvador Dali’s
New York.
Melting
skyscrapers
dripping glass
and steel onto
streets turned
into tar rivers.

The Fifth Avenue
Sherry Netherland
clock oozing metal
from its weeping hands.

Black trunks of
barren trees in
Central Park
festooned with
liquefied window
frames.

Pigeons and rats,
McDonalds wrappers
and a pair of
pink ballet slippers
imprisoned at
melted Broadway
crosswalks.

Air conditioners
wearing trusses
to support
bellies swollen
with exhaustion.

The city silent,
not even roused by
hot winds stronger
than a thousand
gored bulls.

© Annette Libeskind Berkovits