PILINGS

Out in the river you see
remnants of long-ago piers.
Only pilings remain.
A blend of observation,
irony and fact. It’s a good
day to fly a kite.
So few overhead wires
north of Harborside.
At sea, the pilings poke
up through the high tide.
What would they rather
have been? A tree
with a bird’s nest?

Making shade in some
forest glade? Cleaning air
with green leaves or pine
needles? Instead, here,
doomed to provide
respite to restive seagulls,
breaking waves, home to
green slime moss,
hazards to speedy cruise boats,
lined up idle sentries, gasping
for breath in a wash of waves.
Or nothing but a stick in the mud,
among neat rows of sticks in the river.

- By Anthony Buccino
From ONE MORNING IN JERSEY CITY
Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved. Photos and content may not be used for commercial purposes without written permission.
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GROVE STREET SUNRISE

Bloomfield, N.J.

Bemoaning the early hour of the day,
the summer morning light still asleep
as the sun – over there – considers
rising above New York City.
Were I on Montauk Point
this lightening moment
would be minutes past,
but here in Bloomfield
the lights are on
at Grove Street station.
Pass the jazz sculpture,
that’s not work, it’s music,
still resting in night shadows.
Pass the ticket vending machines
to stand under the overhang
and wait for the five-fifty.
The sun awakens
while we are underground,
hunkered in a soot lined tunnel.
We emerge Penn Station,
amble by rote
up escalators to our PATH cars,
cross the hundred year old bridge
over the ten thousand year old Passaic,
over a slight hill, and arc
down to Harrison Station
where other early risers
await this very PATH train.
Across the meadows the golden sky
over-exposes the big city’s
square and pointy skyline.
It is the sun and Harborside
is to the east.

- By Anthony Buccino
From VOICES ON THE BUS
Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved.