The William Tecumseh Sherman

Manhattan at 11:00 PM cool rain
late flight from sunny West Coast
rented apartment Midtown
no restaurant open
the three of us descend on a corner store
lighted up a Hopper painting
the clerk a young unshaven man
weary early in his shift
the little shop survives in high rent city
jammed shelves floor to ceiling
always open
we prowl for edibles
a young mother with five year old girl
shops near the freezers for ice cream
I smile with delight an idiot
to be in this magic city asleep
where nothing is what it seems
seeing me in my dark trench coat
the child runs to her mother
“mommy that man is scaring me”

my son and I sit on a low park wall
near the William Tecumseh Sherman Memorial
sculpted by Saint Gaudens in Grand Army Plaza
an equestrian statue of allegorical ambiguity
pigeons wrangling treats at its feet
restored to grim majesty several years earlier
its gilt gold gleaming in the hot day
anonymously by Donald J Trump
no crowd of unknowing tourists this late summer
across from the Plaza Hotel he recently sold
gathered at this gateway to Central Park
wait for my wife and daughter, about to enter surgery,
and our friend who had never visited New York City
to abandon their conquest of department stores
and meet us for afternoon tea at the Palm Court

desperate for distraction
we wander the nearby FAO Schwarz
where her grandfather took my wife
he a Jewish baker who arrives in the city
an immigrant who supports his younger brothers and sister
sells rolls from a push cart
she a farm girl from Upstate
to astonish her with a zoo of giant stuffed animals
musical instruments and working trains
entertainment surpassed for the women
only by the American Girl store with its character dolls
we watch mothers and daughters take tea
with their dolls in their own small chairs
in the second-floor tea shop
Kaya Kendall Kirstin Luciana Molly
learning manners stories diversity

we observe the geometry of streets and buildings
steel and concrete echoes of the 19^th century
order of grids and right angles imposed by plan
while Sherman’s march cut a swarth of destruction Atlanta to Savannah
62,000 white and Negro soldiers 5000 cavalry 2000 artillerymen
10,000 freed slaves follow camp
reorganizes the struggle for Union victory
Central Park becomes an atoll
around which the demographics of city real estate
of swirling classes and ethnicities uproot and resettle themselves
wealth moves to mansions and massive apartment blocks
along the Park east and west
push poor white and black settlements north
hold the island’s south against draft rioters of 1863
who advance no further than 44^th Street
congregate them in lower Manhattan

New York City devours itself
migrants from small feeder cities of manufactories apples and granaries
immigrants tossed out of the churn of global economics
stuffs them in little like-same villages
routes them through Brooklyn and Queens
expels them off the carousel into Buffalo or Cleveland
where they open ethnic restaurants
or Iowa where they pluck chickens and slaughter cows
or Appalachia to mine metallurgical and heating coal

consumes its housing from under itself
constructs ornate mansions in revival architecture
and apartment buildings with 10-room flats and maid quarters
rips them down
erects tenements projects warehouses jails
replaces a triumphal post office and railroad station
builds subways squeeze throngs onto straps benches bucket seats
rent-seeking investors ride limousines
landlords hide atop pyramids of holding corporations

horse drawn carriages slowly clop and taxi fleets
clog the streets delay the women’s return
we wander the public bottom floors of the hotel
rest on benches along ornate corridors
searching for air conditioning vents
two hours late you arrive unable to contact us
you are already enjoying High Tea

{ finger sandwiches cakes
{ jam-filled cookies cream-filled croissants
{ cocktails with local place names and French wines
{ a dozen teas

When we stumble upon you in the Palm Court
waiters seat us
my son gobbles every sandwich and cake available
I am upset stood up over two hours
I order two Sapphire martinis with tiny onions
the waiter positions one near my bread plate
not splashing a drop
“To whom should I serve the other, sir?”
I point to a spot near the first drink
seemingly puzzled he gently sets it down
I pick up the first martini in its traditional funnel by the stem
I slowly swirl the onion
place onion and toothpick on the bread plate
raise the cold glass to my lips sunburned and sore
swallow the liquid in one draft
then precisely repeat these motions with the second

the gin smashes the damming clots of anger
I say
“I hope you had a good time shopping”
glancing at the bagged packages on the floor
“what did you buy?”

at Jo Malone on Fifth Avenue
assisted by a perfumer
I concoct an evening scent for my wife
pomegranate noir
he swirls a scenting stick in the air
the aromatic mist of desire
seduces me
just as you enter the salon
wearing a bright summer dress
colorful shoes half heels
thin straps around your ankles
I take your hands
you accept this stranger’s embrace
we dance draw close
the perfumer smiles
other patrons watch and wait
enjoying us
so few happy surprises in Manhattan