Captain Cook keeps his back turned
on silent streets, while down the avenue
car engines idle outside the Lucky Wishbone.
Inside, the malt machine hums through another month
waiting for a complete party to be seated.
Tent fabric pops and snaps
as the bearded man—never much of a joiner—
shakes snow from his solitary tent
in a once popular spot in the woods
abandoned for Sullivan Arena’s shelter.
The distracted daughter murmurs
“thank you” to the chaplain as
an unplugged ventilator sits silent
in the corner behind the curtain.
A scritch of skate blades carries
from Westchester Lagoon, barely
ahead of giggles from a toboggan
towed over the icy oval.
Ravens call to the gulls arriving for
springtime changing of the guard:
there’s food in the dumpster,
we’ll leave the light on for you.
John McKay
Anchorage
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