Un-Dead

Un-Dead

Alive, alive, the city is alive

and all abloom with smiles

under the warm and waxing moon

The stern days of winter have faded

from memory and the city is alive.

Streets once grey with soot and sleet

now teem with pale arms and legs.

Heads swivel and twist to take in

the fragrance of the fresh flowers,

all short skirts and décolleté:

We are alive!

A latter day Lazarus ascends

a subway stair and yells “I am alive!”

into the affectionate night air.

Six months hence the grave will call,

but for now we are alive and the city

is paradise.

SMG