THE CLIMATE

I myself like the climate of New York

I see it in the air up between the street

You use a worn-down cafeteria fork

But the air you don’t use stays fresh and neat.

Even we people who walk about in it

We have to submit to wear too, get muddy

Air keeps changing but the nose ceases to fit

And sleekness is used up, and the end’s shoddy.

Monday, you’re down; Tuesday, dying seems a fuss

An adult looks new in the weather’s motion

The sky is in the streets with the trucks and us,

Stands awhile, then lifts across land and ocean.

We can take it for granted that here we’re home

In our record climate I look pleased or glum.

– Edwin Denby

Joe Brainard
Rudy Burckhardt
Matt Freeman
Hermine Ford
Gary Gissler
Becky Kinder
Denise Kupferschmidt
Ian Pedigo
Jude Tallichet